More Important
by takingbarcelona
Summary: She tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear – she'd let it grow long, the Doctor noted – and looked at him nervously. "The last time I saw you," Rose whispered, "I lied."
1. Chapter 1

"Mum, someone's lookin' at ya funny."

"What, Noah?" _Apples, her favourite. Bananas, because the boy was a monkey. _Noah followed two steps behind his mother as they weaved through the grocer's aisles. He occasionally told her the average calculated mass, in Newtons, of the produce items. He also occasionally pretended to be a dinosaur. The boy was only seven, after all.

"No, Mum. A stranger. Look."

Noah had a habit of making mountains out of mole hills, but his voice was just a little too insistent for this to be nothing. She trusted his judgement; maybe someone was leering at her. Sighing, Rose looked up. Her breath caught in her throat. A man in pinstripes with familiar eyes gave a soft smile and tilted his head in the direction of the door. Another glance at the boy, and his long strides carried him out to the street.

Rose held her breath, counted to five, and let it out in a whoosh. Noah's hair ruffled. He was standing just before her. "Mum?" Dark brown eyes and fluffy rusty-brown hair looked at his mother like she was a differential equation. Rose wanted to cry, he looked so like his father.

"Noah," her words were quiet and rushed and Rose tried very hard to be convincing. "Noah, I love you, so much." She squatted down a little, so they were eye to eye.

Concern vanished for all of three seconds from his features, and his face split into his father's manic grin. "Love ya too, Mum." But then, the crinkle was back in his brow and he was back to worry. "But who was that man? Why was he looking at us?"

Rose steadied her hands on her thighs. "He's… He's someone special, angel." Rise took a deep breath. _Is this really happening?_ "Now, let's go, Noah." She took his hand as she stood up, fingers brushing through his unruly hair.

"But, Mum, the shopping!" His voice was nothing but confusion. "Where are we going? You're bonkers. Mum!" Rose just walked out of the store, Noah huffing in her wake.

"Sometimes, big fella, some things are more important than the shopping," Rose said as she scanned the carpark, eyes looking for something so familiar that the memory hurt. Across the street, in a children's playplace, under an ancient oak tree, the Doctor and the TARDIS were waiting.

Rose was doing her very best to stay calm. _What if this was an illusion?_ Couldn't have been, Noah saw him, too. _How in the name of Rassilon was she going to explain all of this?_ Counting her breaths with her footsteps, she spoke to Noah. "Remember how I've always told you you're special, angel?"

"Yeah. So?"

"Well, this is sort of the reason. You're made of star-stuff, young man. And I'm going to try to explain it." They waited at the crosswalk, and Noah fidgeted with his mother's fingers. "I know it's always just been you and me, and Gran and Paps. But the story's a little bit bigger than just us, okay?"

Noah squeezed her hand. He was listening, taking it all in. _With his brain, he probably already knows what I'm gonna say, _Rose thought absently. They approached the gate of the playpark, and Rose stopped, dropping low to speak to her son.

"Noah, Savoir of Animals, King of the Tower, go play, mate. I'll come get you in just a mo', after I speak with the gentleman, okay? And please," she kissed his forehead and laughed, "don't climb higher in the trees than you can get down from, okay? Let's not have to call Paps again."

Noah looked at her very carefully. "Are you sure?" Rose sighed. So much older than his seven years, he was.

"Yes sir." Rose said, wide eyes and a smile falsely bright. "I need to find out if that man is who I think he is."

Noah's brow was still creased. "Who do you think he is?"

Rose considered this carefully. "I think he's a friend. A long-lost friend." She sighed and then said, with enthusiasm, "Go! Explore! Don't come back until you've discovered something." And away he went, running pell-mell to the duck pond. Rose suddenly wished that Noah was just tiny again, and she could have held him to her for this conversation. _It's been almost eight years, but he's back. He might have just come back. _These thoughts in mind, Rose put one foot in front of the other, and walked towards the old oak tree and the older man sitting beneath it.

The Doctor was leaning against the tree trunk by the time Rose approached. His eyes were warm and dark and just a little bit curious. Rose's breath was stuck in her chest and her heart was beating a wild, staccato rhythm under her ribs. She stopped just outside of his reach. _What if he's not real? What if…_

"Rose." The Doctor closed his eyes when he said her name, if only just for a flash of a second. Rose, in turn, swore to herself that she wasn't going to cry. _First things first,_ she thought.

"Are you real?" Only just louder than a whisper, it left her lips. "Are you really here?"

He took a step forward, hands in fists deep in his trench pockets. He ducked his head, letting out a breath as he looked back at her. "I never thought I'd hear your voice again." One more step; a hand out of its pocket, reaching towards her own. "Very real, Rose. I'm back."

She took his hand in hers, only just their fingers in touch. "How long? Doctor, how long do we have?"

He tugged on her fingers gently, pulling her into his orbit. He smelled like leather and stars. She reached up and touched his face, the stubble no different than it had ever been. He smiled under her fingers and used her own words against her. "Forever, Rose."

She sucked in a massive breath, and her chest heaved with the news. Holding his hand in both of hers, she fought tears. The Doctor pulled her in close to him, tucked her face into the crevice between his neck and chest. His arms wrapped tightly around her and he breathed in the smell of her hair. Tears slipped form Rose's closed eyes and trailed wetly down the Doctor's neck. He held her closer, and fiercely whispered, "I never stopped loving you. Not for one minute, Rose. Not once."

Rose held back a sob as best she could, and looked back up at the Doctor, eyes unreadable. "I love you. So much."

He kissed her forehead, and then once chastely on the lips, just to prove to himself that this happiness was his to hold. "C'mere," he said softly. They walked to the bench under the tree, matched stride for stride. The Doctor threw his trench over the armrest at one end, and settled comfortably. Rose sat down beside him, his hand still between hers in her lap. The Doctor had a strangely blank face, while Rose half-heartedly wiped at her eyes. She played with the Doctor's long, slender fingers in the silence, hands that hadn't aged a day in almost eight years. Eventually, he shook off her fingers and contented rubbed his palm along her thigh. Then, with a big breath, he cleared his throat.

His voice was quiet and light when he spoke. "So, who's he?"

Rose felt like her veins filled with ice in that moment, the shock was so sharp. _First things first,_ she thought again. _You knew this would come._

Rose took a breath, and her tongue peeked out to touch her lips. She chewed her lower lip for just a moment, and then, bravely said, "I lied."

The Doctor wasn't expecting that answer. He turned his body to look at her properly. Rose's posture was as straight as he'd ever seen it, and her eyes were distant – focused on the little boy who was sitting under another tree just beside the pond, the little boy who seemed to have every single bird in the park fluttering around him. A trio of chickadees land on his shoulders and the boy shook with laughter, ruffling the birds, who shift and peep madly at the action. "What?"

Rose ignored his question, smiling broadly at the child. "He loves animals." There was pride in her voice. "And they love him. Noah, the Savior of the Animals." She tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear – she'd let it grow long, the Doctor noted – and looked at him nervously. "The last time I saw you," Rose whispered, "I lied."

"Rose." The Doctor's voice didn't give anything away. He looked at her carefully and didn't say anything else.

"You remember what we said?" Her eyes were hopeful. He could see it on her face, she was scared.

"Every word." Not a lie. They were etched into his memory and his nightmares from their time apart.

"It wasn't my mum." She said softly. Rose couldn't bring herself to make eye contact. "Mum wasn't pregnant." There were new tears, but Rose wouldn't let them out.

_ He has to understand. Please, God. Please. _And he did, but these were words he had to hear Rose say. Rose took another deep breath and for a moment, wished that he would hold her hand. "It was me." _There. Out there, said aloud. _Rose fought to keep the tears at bay, her eyes staring straight at the ground between her feet.

The Doctor's question hadn't changed. "Who is he?" He touched Rose's chin, and brought her eyes back up to his. His voice was soft. Quiet. Surprisingly gentle.

She looked him square in the eye and said without reservation, "He's yours."

He held his breath and leaned back against the bench. _Yours. Your son. _Except for those words, his mind was almost entirely empty. Not shock, no, but something else. Something else had taken hold of both his hearts. Rose mistook his silence.

"You can leave," she whispered. The tears were flowing unchecked from her eyes. The Doctor's face whipped around to look at her.

"What?"

"He doesn't know who you are." Rose said, her voice detached from her heart. "I mean, he knows about you. I told him so many stories, Doctor. So many adventures. I told him he's made of star-stuff." She laughed sadly. "So, he knows you. He knows he's loved." She looked at the Doctor again. "But, as of right now, he doesn't know who the bloke on the bench is." She tucked her hair behind her ears, again – _nervous tick, _thought the Doctor – and looked at him levelly. "So, if this is too much…" Her voice trailed off when she looked at her son in the distance, now up to his ankles in pond water. "You can leave."

The Doctor felt like the wind had been cleanly knocked out of him. He gaped at Rose, his eyes almost angry. He stopped himself before he said anything, gauging the reaction on Rose's face. "Do you want me to?" The words were barely whispered. They may not have even been said at all.

Her face fell, and she reached out to him. "No!" She whimpered against his chest. "It's the last thing I want, Doctor." She looked up at him, eyes sincere. "But a son is probably the last thing you'd imagined you'd come back to."

The Doctor wrapped his arms around her where she was, ear pressed above one of his hearts. "You're right, Rose." She let out a long exhale, and made to move off of him, but the Doctor held her closer. "He's the last thing…" The Doctor cleared his throat and started again, his voice thick. "But I'm here, and I'm not leaving you again. Do you know how hard I worked? Oh, Rose…" He whispered these words into her hair and rubbed his palm up and down her arm. They sat like that for several minutes, the Doctor with his eyes closed, breathing her in, and Rose, listening to his heartsbeat and watching Noah in the near distance. She glanced at her watch, and noticed that Noah had started to wander a little closer to them, occasionally looking at his mother and pretending he wasn't.

Rose sat up in the Doctor's arms, and he looked out of one eye at her. "What do you say," she stretched, rolling her shoulders, "we make some introductions?"

The Doctor opened his other eye and sat up more fully, the setting sun catching golden spots in his dark hair. Elbows on knees and hands clasped together, he looked at the boy. "He'll not run away screaming, will he?"

Rose laughed. "Oh, you're daft. Always have been, Doctor. No, I think he'll be over-trilled, especially if he's already figured you out."

"Whatcha mean?"

"He's got your superior Time Lord brains, for damn sure."

This was a new consideration. The Doctor hadn't even considered to ask. He looked at Rose and asked quietly, "How many hearts does he have?"

Rose let a wide, shy smile. "Two," she whispered.

He leaned back against the bench once more, and laughed with a full happiness he hadn't felt in years. This Time Lord was no longer very lonely, and was no longer the very, very last.


	2. Chapter 2

**So, a thank you to everyone who has read the previous chapter and taken the time to review. I did a little plotting last night, and it looks like this story is going to quite long. I've got lots I want to say, so buckle up for the long haul! **

** Again, thank you for your comments – they're a big help to keep me writing!**

* * *

Noah was sitting down on the grass beside the pond when Rose settled down beside him. Her jacket was unbuttoned in the warm autumn air, and the sunset meant the rusty orange leaves looked like they were spun from gold. It was a beautiful scene, really. The Doctor was watching from the beach under the oak, out of earshot.

"Hey, mate." Rose whispered. All the animals that had been surrounding Noah started to crawl back into his space, one obnoxious squirrel trying to make way with the boy's shoelaces. Noah looked at his mother.

"Are we going home soon?" His voice wasn't petulant, he never had been. Rose could, however, hear the very quiet _Mum, I'm starvin'_ buried in his tone.

"Yes sir." Rose nodded decisively, and stood up, shaking the leaves and dead grass from her jeans. Once she was upright, she gave Noah a solid once-over. "Looks like I'm doin' laundry, huh?"

Noah had the decency to blush and look at his filthy pants. "You said 'discover something,'" Noah pouted. "I discovered stuff."

With this, Rose was down on her knees in front of him, eyes bright. "Well, then, tell me, Mr. Scientist! All research must be put before the review committee." Rose tried to make her face as serious and old-looking as possible. Noah just laughed.

"Come an' see!" He took off running the direction of the pond.

"Wait up, monkey!" Rose yelled in his wake. _Not at all different from when his father was onto something,_ she thought. _Everything has to be said and done at Mach 5._ Huffing, and with mud in her shoes, Rose finally caught up. "What am I lookin' at?"

"Tadpoles," the Scientist said seriously. "I think they're only two weeks old." Quick as a flash, Noah's hand went down into the muck, and came back with one shiny, wet almost-frog. He started going into the details of how frogs grew and developed, for the benefit of his mother. Rose, for all she was worth, made it out to be totally invested in what Noah was saying. To be perfectly honest, however, she just wished that he would stop swinging the mud-frog-hand so close to her face. Eventually, however, Noah came to his very important conclusion. "They breathe through their skin, see?" Mud sloshed onto the ground beside Rose's knee. She tried not to think about it. "So that means we can' touch 'em or nothin', cause it hurts. That's why I've got mud." Rose nodded, using her 'thinking face' to the best of her ability.

"It's good you're so clever." Rose said, running a hand up and down the back of her son's leg. "Before this, I didn't know the foggiest about frogs."

"You're lying." _Quick as a whip, this kid_, Rose thought sourly.

"With all that brain power up there, you saw straight through me. Truth be told, I knew only a _teeny weeny itsy bit_ about frogs. You've expanded my knowledge, my clever boy." And with that confession, she got a real smile out of her son. Gently nodding her head in the direction of the pond water, Noah got the hint and let the scared little creature go. Wiping his hands on his pants as Rose winced, _well, they're filthy anyway_, Noah turned to look at her.

"Are you going to tell me who the stranger is?"

Rose smiled softly, and ran her fingers through her son's wild hair. "So sharp, you are. So very clever," she whispered. "Let's walk," she said, holding out a hand. Noah took it, and very slowly they made their way over the bench.

"It's just been you and me for a long time, hasn't it, Noah? All your life," Rose sighed. "I mean, we've got Gran and Paps, and that's brilliant, God love 'em, but that's not all." She looked at her son as he watched his shoes as they walked. "A long time ago, when you were still inside me, before you were born, there was someone else. Someone else completed our little circus family." Rose could practically hear the gears turning in her son's head. By now, they were only about ten paces away from the bench and the Doctor. He was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, just like before.

She stopped them where they were standing, and held Noah to her body, his back to her front, her arm across his chest. Noah looked up and back over his shoulder as she continued to speak. "I told you stories about your dad. How he and I used to have adventures like you could never even imagine. Chasing bad guys and making friends and saving the world just in the nick of time."

"And then," she said, "I told you of the time we tried to save the world and we didn't try hard enough. We got separated forever and ever. Not by choice, not at all. Imagine a storm so big it spilt the world in two, and you could never put those halves back together." Her fingers traced gentle circles on her son's shoulder as they stood there in the fading light.

"But," she said, her tone lighter and more hopeful, "your dad is the smartest man there is. It's why you're so brilliant, my little scientist. You're made of star-stuff because your dad is from the stars, way out there. I've told you before, whatever you can imagine and more. It's all true. You came to me from the stars." She kissed the top of his head. "And so did your dad. And because he's so, so clever, angel, he came back."

Noah, who had been listening this whole time, turned himself around in his mother's arms to look at her properly. "Mum, you mean…?" His eyes were wide and Rose thought maybe his voice was shaking. She held him closer, and his little fingers worked themselves into fists in her shirt. _He's trying not to cry_, Rose thought, as she stroked his hair.

"Hey, shh, it's alright." She petted his cheek and rubbed his back as Noah came back to himself. "There's nothing to be afraid of, okay?" She held her son very, very close, barely able to imagine that this was real. "If you have any questions, love, just ask, okay?" Noah nodded furiously against her chest, but was still unwilling to lift his head. "I promise I will only tell you the truth. Always."

They stood like that for another moment, and then, Noah, aging beyond his year, took a final deep breath and steadied himself. He turned around, a question in his eyes when he looked at Rose. She nodded, her own tears very close to spilling. Noah stepped out of her arms, and very, very slowly made his way over the Doctor, who hadn't moved an inch. Almost within arm's reach, Noah stopped, stock still.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, too aware of how much they were shaking. The comfortable buzz that had always existed in his head became louder, and he could feel someone else's headspace very close to his own. _From the stars_, his mother said. Never the words _alien _or _magic_. And if they were both from the same place, Noah thought, it would make sense that this man's headspace sounded the same as his.

Raising his eyes, he looked very carefully at the man sitting before him. _Now or ever,_ he thought to himself.

"Hi, Dad." The word was hard to manoeuver, his tongue tied up in the newness of the sound. Noah stuck hard to his guns, though, and tried to not show the conflict on his face.

The Doctor smiled softly, hearts pounding madly in his chest. He could see the nervousness on the boy, and felt the buzz in his mental activity. This little wonder of a child who was his.

"Hi, Noah."

Rose watched as Noah approached the bench. The Doctor had leaned back and shifted himself so he was face to face with the little boy. Noah was at a loss for words – it wasn't like he hadn't imagined this scenario a hundred thousand times. He had. But this moment… this was too surreal for him. He sat on the bench just outside of the Doctor's reach. The older man understood this. He let out a small laugh. Noah looked up at him suddenly, with wide eyes.

"Nervous wrecks, we are." The Doctor smiled sincerely, discretely looking the boy up and down. Noah smiled shyly back at him, while his fingers twisted madly in his lap. "Can I ask you some questions, Noah?"

The boy nodded, and then said in a strong voice, "One for one."

The Doctor's left brow got stuck somewhere near his hairline. "Yeah. Okay." He nodded, an echo of the gesture his son made. Rose, standing just a little ways away, thought they were two sides of the same coin. "Whatcha mean?"

Noah looked at his father like he was daft. "You ask one," the boy pointed at his father's chest. "And then, I ask one." He pointed at himself, just in case the adult's brain wasn't screwed in quite right. Gran's wasn't, so you could never be too careful in explaining things. "One for one," he said again, like it was clear as day.

The Doctor pulled an impressed face, and Noah thought he looked like he'd tasted something foul, like cough medicine, or, maybe, burnt toast. "May I start?" He asked, eyebrows askew.

Noah nodded and felt his palms go clammy.

"How old are you?"

Noah relaxed a little. These kind of questions he could do. "I'm seven," he said, looking his father in the eye. The Doctor tried to keep a straight face while his hearts fell in his chest. _He'd missed seven years. Plus Rose's pregnancy…So much time._ He was jarred from his thoughts when Noah took his turn. "How old are you?"

_I'm 912, _the Doctor thought. But this little boy couldn't be told that. It would be too much of a shock. So the Doctor settled, "I'm very old. Older than I look, in fact." His tone was chipper, almost daring little Noah to guess. He had no idea how much Rose had told him about his life, his lifestyle. And that little thing, really, that he was an _alien_.

"Can I tell you a secret, Noah?" The Doctor had a conspiratorial face on. Noah wished vaguely that people would stop making faces at him. He licked his lips and nodded.

"I'm just like you." The Doctor crooked a finger at Noah, gesturing for him to come closer. The little boy slid along the bench just until their legs were touching. The Doctor leaned down and pointed on finger at the far right side of his chest, just beside the boy's face. "Listen," said the Doctor, with a knowing smile.

Noah pressed his ear tentatively against the man's chest – he was still a stranger after all – but he wasn't too worried, he could still see his mum sitting under a nearby tree, reading in the last of the daylight. Around them, streetlights started to illuminate. Noah listened more carefully, blocking out the sounds of rustling fabric and his own heartsbeat. But then, suddenly clear under his ear was a steady da-dump and its echoing ba-bump in return. _This man_, Noah thought, holding his breath, _this man has two hearts. Just like you. _

"You have two," the little boy said when he looked up from where he was listening. He excitedly reached his hand over and placed it over the twin heart, so he could feel them beat in tandem. Noah gave his father a true smile for the very first time.

"You and me," the Doctor said softly, carefully running a hand through his son's flyaway hair, "we're different. But," he continued, eyebrows raised, "_we're exactly the same._"

* * *

Rose watched the exchange carefully over the edge of her novel. It was just a trashy paperback, one of many in a series. She was in the habit of carrying one around with her all the time now – surprise visits to the playground, Noah's football practice, his piano lessons – all little moments where some distraction was better than boredom. Boredom, however, did not describe this moment. She had wanted to give father and son little bit of distance so they could talk without feeling her presence. Now, under the tree, Rose shivered. Her own belly rumbled, and she took it upon herself in the near-dark to start moving things forward. They couldn't stay in the park all night.

Taking quick steps, Rose stood just before her family on the bench. Noah was still curled up, listening to the Doctor's heartsbeat as he was told about a place where the grass was crimson and the leaves on the trees were soft silver. The Doctor ended his story and looked up at Rose. They shared a small smile – both of them daunted by what stood in front of them. Rose, however, was not about to let her nerves get the best of her. "Alright, gents," she said, hands on her hips. "Who's up for chips?"

* * *

**And now, I think we're done for the day. I'll start working on the next installment either tonight or tomorrow morning, to be up maybe tomorrow night. Again, thanks to everyone who comments! They make me feel warm and fuzzy on the inside.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** To the reviewer who asked about backstory: I've taken a little bit of liberty with this. I'm new to Doctor Who, and so far have only worked my way up to about halfway of season three. The assumption here is that Rose stayed in the Altverse after "Doomsday" and that the Doctor continued all of his efforts in the original verse. That said, eight years is a long time, and the Doctor's love for Rose was not shallow. Neither was Rose's, for that matter, but more on that later. If you're curious and can wait, everything will come to light in the fifth or sixth chapter. The only change to what's canon is that in Bad Wolf Bay, Rose was pregnant. After that point, Rose's life (and Noah's) becomes my territory. The Doctor, however, manages to stay in his 10th incarnation while still saving the universe with Martha and Jack (they'll get mentioned, as does Torchwood) until the point in time where he was able to cross the Void and reunite with Rose.

In other words, welcome to chapter three. Reviews make me a very, very happy camper. Any questions? Justlet me know.

**Disclaimer:**Let's not get excited, folks. The Doctor does not belong to me. I'm not making any profit off of this material.

* * *

"So, then, there we were, finally landed on Raxacoricofallapatorious." The Doctor had left his chips cold in front of him as he told the story, as words tumbled out of his mouth a mile a minute. "We had to deliver the Egg of Margaret somewhere secretly so that maybe, just _maybe_, she could have a second chance and do life the right way round."

"Rexicorridorfellownotorious?" Noah blurted out the word like he couldn't control himself.

The Doctor's eyebrows were high under his hairline, and his mouth was making a funny shape. "Yeah, sort of." Rose didn't even blink at the two of them. "It's better than your mum's first go at it."

"Oi!" That got her attention, and Rose quickly butted into the story. "Don't let 'im fool ya, kiddo. He once got us wrong by a whole _year._ Your gran had called the police and everything, they were mental lookin' for me 'cause I'd trotted off with 'im."

Noah looked skeptical, and sprinkled more hot sauce on his chips. The Doctor nudged Rose's shoulder with his own, looking dubiously at the boy's plate. "Always does that, does he?" He whispered to Rose, and made a pained face when the boy tucked into his food exuberantly.

Rose wasn't fazed in the least. She just sat there, slipping from her fizzy drink. She leaned in and whispered back, "He gets it from you." The Doctor looked a little sick at her response.

"Rexicorridorfallopatorious?"

Rose laughed. "Don't worry, love. You'll get it." Noah huffed. Doctor squeaked back in his chair and swept away their empty cartons in a flash of trench coat and pinstripes.

"So!" he declared enthusiastically, "Who wants ice creams?"

"Ugh, don't spoil him, Doctor. He'll think every day'll be like Christmas." Rose said jokingly, making eyes at Noah so he knew she wasn't being serious. "I, for one, want peanut butter chocolate chip."

The Doctor laughed and laid his arm across her shoulders, while on her other side Noah held her hand. The trio exited the chippy and strolled down the street to a little corner vendor – an old man with a large and rather intimidating moustache inside an ice cream truck sold mother and son their extravagant desires. The Doctor had a plain banana flavoured cone. _Where to go from here,_ he wondered quietly.

Rose could feel the tension in his shoulders as they walked down the brightly lit street. She looked up at him carefully, and he, in turn, winked at her softly. With that, he placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head and turned to face his two companions. "If my deductions are anywhere near what they used to be in this universe," the Doctor started enthusiastically, "then there is a 79.96734 percent chance that it is soon going to be bedtime for you, sir." Noah snorted, unimpressed by the bravado. "Oi!" Let out his father. "Don't like my predictions, do ya?"

Noah looked at his Lion King watch. "You're wrong." He said simply. "It's a 96.784 percent chance that I'll have to have a bath first, and then go to bed. The only totally independent variable is Mum."

The Doctor whistled. Rose just laughed. "He's got ya."

Making a bothered face, the Doctor said to Noah, "You're seven?"

Rose could see where this conversation was going to go very quickly. _Time Lords,_ she thought. _Always butting heads. This'll be interestin'._ "How 'bout," she interrupted delicately between the hard-thinking boys, "Noah and I go grab the car, and you meet us outside the house?" Rose's eyebrows rose as she asked the question. The Doctor looked ruffled.

"I can park just fine, Rose. I can park the TARDIS inside." He was still a little sour that his son thought he got his estimates wrong. Rose, however, had a different line of thought.

"Oh, so when the neighbours see it in through the window, they'll not be askin' questions or nothing, right?" Her right eyebrow arched sharply. Noah tried valiantly to copy her action, to a much smaller degree of success.

"What's the TARDIS?" He asked, interrupting the adults' staring contest.

"It's a…" they spoke simultaneously. Rose challenged the Doctor with her eyes, _you think the full-out truth is gonna be good for him?_ The Doctor covered his false start with a poorly-imitated cough. Rose continued. "It's his means of transport, love. Works everywhere and everywhen. You'll see it soon, I promise."

Noah nodded his head and accepted, and then came up with the best suggestion yet. "Why don't he park it in the garage?"

The Doctor whooped and threw the boy up into the air, and onto his shoulders. "Brilliant, you are. Thinkin' right when everyone else is thinkin' left. I'm gonna like you, I am." Noah howled with laughter, his hands clutching at the collar of his father's coat.

The three quickly made it back to the now-silent grocer's market, where Rose's little car sat beneath a streetlight in the carpark. Just across the street, the TARDIS stood waiting under the oak tree, just where it had appeared earlier that same afternoon. Parting ways, the Doctor promised to meet them at Rose's new permanent address, on the other side of the city, in just a few minutes.

* * *

The Doctor hadn't been surprised to hear of a new home. Having a fresh start in this universe had almost been a blessing for Rose. There weren't people who still expected to see her every day, old friends who were completely unaware of the wild changes in her life. Instead, it was quiet, calm. Vitex, Pete's corporation, was still doing strong and was expanding. He had helped Rose immensely in the early days, paying for the down payment on her own house. She worked hard at Torchwood for as long as her pregnancy allowed, and then, eventually, went back to that position fully once Noah started kindergarten. Pete and Jackie also paid for his first few years of school at a lovely private elementary just down the road. Now, however, Rose paid for most things, with the few exceptions of what Pete and her mother insisted they help with.

It was a beautiful home with a small front yard and a wonderful fenced-in back yard. The carport was attached, and tonight, it was the designated resting place of the TARDIS. The home was spacious and inviting when the Doctor arrived, Noah already sent upstairs to have his bath. Rose had the radio quietly humming in the kitchen as she set the kettle on the stove for tea. The Doctor slowly opened the door that led into the mudroom behind the kitchen, and, seeing light, stepped in carefully.

His breath caught shortly in his throat. In the muted light coming from above the stove in the kitchen, Rose was illuminated in a warm gold. _Pink and yellow human_, he remembered to himself. _You've not changed at all, you beauty._

He approached her quietly; she was half-hunched over, reading the headmaster's send-home, Noah's new football practice schedule, and the list of pointers his piano teacher had left. The kettle whistled shrilly and she straightened quickly, her back coming into contact with the Doctor's chest. He placed a hand on her hip to steady her as she jumped, startled.

"Blimey," she breathed loudly through her lips as she leaned back against him. "You got something against makin' a noise when you walk?" she groused into the hollow just above his sternum as she turned around in his arms. Wrapping her arms around him in turn, she leaned into his weight and let him support her. "I missed you so much," she whispered.

The Doctor reached past her, taking the screaming kettle off of the stove. "Oh, Rose," he sighed into her hair. "There was not a day that I didn't think of you." She looked up, searching into his eyes. His dark brown met her own caramel, and she watched as his gaze drifted down to her lips and then back up to hers. They both smiled softly.

"You're really here," Rose whispered, her breath against his collar.

"Really," he whispered back.

Together, the movement barely discernible, they moved closer and closer to one another, until each could feel the other's breath move over their lips. Rose's eyes closed, and she prayed over and over again in her head that he was really here to stay.

"Mum! Mum, I'm done!" Noah yelled loudly, and the adults jumped back from one another, the moment broken. His small feet could be heard as he ran and skidded from the bath upstairs to his bedroom at the other end of the hallway. Rose quickly went to the bottom of the stairs, yelling as she climbed them. "Noah! Noah, don't run when you're soaked, for goodness sakes' you'll brain yourself and that'll be the end of it!"

The Doctor, still standing beside the stove in the kitchen, laughed to himself. _No point at all in living life slowly_, he thought to himself, _certainly not when you're seven years old and there's still so much to see. _The Doctor puzzled for a moment before deciding on the cupboard to his immediate left, letting out a "Ah-ha!" when he found it full of mugs. Picking up where Rose left off, he poured the tea, and waited for her in the kitchen, thinking to himself. _Still so very, very much to see._

* * *

A short time later, Rose came quietly back down the stairs, turning back in towards the kitchen. The Doctor was leaning against the countertop, hips at an angle. His glasses were perched on the end of his nose as he skimmed the very same school send-homes Rose had been looking at earlier.

She coughed quietly to let him know she was there, and in response, he turned, handing her a mug. She took a sip and smiled to herself. He remembered exactly how she'd taken her tea. Glasses still slightly askew, the Doctor just looked at her. Rose, feeling like she was being examined, simply said, "Noah's reading." The Doctor raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. Rose continued. "Just a half hour before lights out. He used to get nightmares, and we'd stay up and read together. He just, kept doin' it. It helps him sleep. He's like you, he can do with less than normal humans, I guess."

The Doctor held out his hand, and the two made their way to the living room. He'd left his trench coat in the TARDIS, and now, as Rose sat down, he shrugged out of his suit jacket, throwing it over the arm of the neighbouring chair before he settled beside her.

Rose leaned comfortably against his chest, her ear just over one of his hearts. She held on to her mug with two hands, shaking off a shiver that wasn't from the chill outside. The Doctor let his fingers drift up and down her arm as they sat in the familiar quiet. "The house is beautiful, Rose," he said softly, taking a sip from his steaming mug. Rose nodded.

"Pete paid the down on it just after everything happened." _After you disappeared forever, _she added in her thoughts. "He didn't want Noah to be without… Well, without all this." She felt the Doctor's head bob in agreement.

"He's thriving," he added. "Piano. Football. Private school. Rose," he said her name softly. "You've been amazing." Rose blushed at the compliment.

"If he was anyone else's," Rose laughed quietly, "he'd be a hellion. But there's no denyin' it, Doctor. He's as lovable as you." She was quiet for a moment. "You know," she said, "that was what got me through the dark stuff. The hard times, early on." She couldn't look at the Doctor, but she had to keep going. "Sometimes I would be so miserable and then, like a light in the dark I could feel him and it was a little like you… And it was enough." She took a shaky breath. "He was half-you, and if I couldn't have all of you, I could have all of him. And that… That was enough for me."

The Doctor didn't know how to respond. His throat felt thick with emotion. _But wait_, came the quiet voice of his mind,_ feel him? What does she mean?_ The Doctor decided that they would have to have a serious talk about those sorts of things later. Would Rose mind if he took their son into the TARDIS's infirmary, just so he could exactly how this strange little boy had been made? _Would Rose and Noah ever set foot on the TARDIS?_

"Rose, I have a question." The Doctor said, and his moving hand stilled against her arm, pulling her in closer in his embrace. "You can take as long as you like to think about it. We can… we can talk to Noah and see how he feels, too." _How to say this? _the Doctor thought.

"I know you have a life here. You've been brilliant with Noah. With… with our son. This is your home -"

Rose cut him off. "You're asking if I'll go back to the Other Side with you." Her eyes stayed focused on the lukewarm mug in her hands. She'd always been one for getting to the root of the matter. Picked a scab until it bled, asked questions in interviews at Torchwood until people and aliens alike went sour with her. Rose had little patience for beating around the bush when she had first met the Doctor, and the years since had only exacerbated this trait.

"Yes." The Doctor's reply was simple.

Rose weighed the pros and cons before them in their conversation, putting all the proverbial cards on the table. "Noah will learn everything he really needs from you. Leaving school isn't an issue. And, as much as I love him and he is a part of me – a part of us – if it weren't for him, this question would only be for me and I would say yes a thousand times." She looked at the Doctor with clear eyes now. "But what about Mum? Would we ever see them again if we crossed over?"

The Doctor knew better than to be coy. "Probably not. It's still not a good idea to travel between the universes. The act itself is safe – being in the Void doesn't do anything to us so long as we're in the TARDIS. But crossing over and over again?" His face was solemn. "That's like knocking on an already cracked pane of glass."

Rose inhaled, expecting that kind of answer but hoping it wouldn't be true. Her voice shook as she asked one more question, the one that had been plaguing her since the Doctor's arrival. "Do you…" Her voice faded, and she tried again. "Do you want Noah to come with us?" Once more, she couldn't meet his eyes.

"Rose!" The Doctor turned and faced her, and placed a finger under her chin to bring her eyes up to his. "I wasn't expecting to find him here, but Noah is perfect. You've done an amazing job being his mother, and I am so, so proud of you. Do you understand that?"

Rose couldn't meet his eyes. "But," she started.

"No buts. It's an open invitation to the both of you. Yes, he'd leave school here and his hobbies and friends, but Rose, he's got you still. I'm… I'm a new addition, and I _swear_ to you that I will do my best. He'll never be in harm's way. But," and now the Doctor sighed. "The decision is ultimately yours if we leave. Because there's the other option, too."

Rose looked up, her eyebrows creased. She set down her now-cold mug and asked suspiciously, "What 'other option'?"

The Doctor shrugged. "I could stay here."

Against that, Rose was adamant. "No." She said loudly. "No way. I'm not having that. I'm not going to tie you down to this Earth like a rock. I'll not be like that."

"But, Rose," the Doctor said, gently touching the side of her face, "you wouldn't be like that. You'd be doing what might be best for him."

Rose just shook her head and curled back into the Doctor's chest. "No," she said again. "It's final. We'll go. Noah needs to see what's amazing out there. He needs to know who he really is."

The Doctor leaned back with Rose still wrapped in his arms. The decision was made – they were going back to the original universe. _But when? How would Rose's parents react? What would Noah say? _The Doctor had a thousand thoughts spinning at once, but was distracted as Rose stifled a yawn. "You've had a long day," he said, his voice muffled by his lips against her hair. Rose nodded.

"Bed?" She asked, as she tried to keep her expression neutral. The Doctor smiled softly. They stood together, and the Doctor nodded his head over his shoulder, gesturing behind him.

"I can head back…"

Rose just held his hand tighter as she turned, making her way to the staircase. She made eye contact with him when they were at the foot of the stairs. "I'd really like it if you were with me tonight," she said shyly.

The Doctor pulled her in close one last time before they ascended the staircase. "Rose, Rose, Rose Tyler. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways…"

* * *

**A/N:** And so, my friends, the third instalment has come to an end. This one is a little longer than the previous two, but it feels like it ended where it should. For those who are curious: the rating for this story is going to go up soon - probably in the next two or three chapters. When that time comes, the true copies of the chapters will probably go on my tumblr, and i'll edit-down the versions to post here.  
Reviews mean the world to me, so if you'd care to drop a line, it would mean a lot! Have a Happy Tuesday. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Welcome to chapter four! A big thank you to everyone who's been reviewing this story as it goes along. I won't be able to add new chapters every like I have been once school starts getting crazy again, but I'll sincerely try to post as frequently as possible. That said, it's quality over quantity, and I think that's better for everyone, right?

Suggestions, questions, or thoughts? Just let me know.

And, just so we're clear, this isn't going to stay rating K for much longer, so if I've picked up any underage readers, be forewarned. The saucy versions of the chapters will be posted elsewhere, with edited-down versions being posted here.

**Disclaimer: **Let's get real, folks. The good Doctor isn't mine, and I'm not making any profit. This is entirely my own work of fiction.

* * *

_Something is snuffling in front of your face. Wake up. _

The Doctor peered blearily from eye, only to wish he hadn't. Directly in front of him was a giant, wet, black nose, sniffing ceaselessly at the Doctor's exposed face and fingers. He sat upright immediately. The large wet nose was attached to a ginormous – albeit thankfully dry – dog. It sat back on its haunches and looked at the Doctor carefully.

Rose had been shaken awake by the Doctor's sudden movement. Sleepy eyes and wild bedhead hair peeked around the Doctor to see what the commotion had been.

"Rose, what's this?" The Doctor's voice was hoarse.

Yawning, Rose's head fell back into her pillow. "That's Baxter," she mumbled, rolling over.

The dog's tail thumped against the floor when he heard his name.

The Doctor wandered downstairs, leaving Rose still buried under the comforter. The dog had followed him down the hallway, given him one last look, and silently slipped back into Noah's room. The Doctor couldn't quite place his finger on it, but there was something about the dog that made him uneasy.

Thoughts aside, he put the kettle on the stove. Meandering until he found the front door, the Doctor stuck his nose outside into another classic early British morning – damp fog hung low in the air, and he could only just make out the shape of the house across the boulevard. He leaned out, snatched up the newspaper, and closed the door with a quiet bump off his shoulder. _June 27, the year of our Lord 2015. It's been a while, hasn't it?_

As the kettle whistled in the kitchen, the Doctor wandered back into the house. Above him, he heard small feet running, followed loyally by the click-clack of Baxter as the pair made their way down the stairs. Boy and dog alike skidded to a halt in the doorway of the kitchen, two arms and six legs akimbo as footy jimjams didn't hold their traction on the shiny floor. The Doctor leaned over the kitchen island to look at the dynamic duo in a heap just before him, glasses perched low on the tip of his nose. "Good morning, Noah!"

"Hi," said the little boy, somewhere under his housecoat. Baxter's tail thumped. The Doctor sensed a theme emerging. Eventually, man and his best friend had sorted themselves out, and Noah stood before his father, his hair just as bedheaded as Rose's, who was still sound asleep despite the noise.

Noah hopped up into a seat in the breakfast nook, just beside a window off to the side of the kitchen. Baxter lay down at his feet. He looked at the Doctor carefully, finally deciding to use his words. "Are you making breakfast, Dad?" There was a full pause before that word came out into the air, but Noah was nothing if not brave.

The words shocked some life back into the older man. He inhaled greatly, before spinning on the spot to face the refrigerator and stovetop. "Uhh," he tugged his ear, feeling more than a little out of his element, standing there in just suit pants and shirtsleeves. "Yeah. Yeah, I am." He spun back around to face his son, manic grin on his face. "Whatcha fancy?"

"Dunno," the boy responded, yawning.

"You're tired?" the Doctor asked. Immediately thereafter, the dog at their feet yawned, too. _Oh, something's fishy._ The Doctor thought. _Downright fishy indeed._

"Nah," Noah said, yawning again. "Jus' waking up." He rubbed his eyes blearily, and then, making decisions, jumped off his stool. Baxter's ears perked, and he moved to sit back on his haunches, eyes watching the little boy like a hawk. _Some serious investigation required, for sure._

"Tea?" The Doctor suggested, standing just behind the boy. Noah looked at him strangely. "No, okay, too young for tea. Orange juice? Not an age range on orange juice, is there?"

Noah grabbed the bottle from the open fridge, and then pointed to a cupboard well over his head. The Doctor understood the gesture, and reaching up, grabbed two tall glasses from the shelf. Noah abandoned the juice on the counter, and instead went to his tippy-toes to a tall cupboard on the other side of the kitchen island, reaching for a brightly coloured box of cereal. Glasses set on the table, and bowl of sugar in hand, father, son, and dog all moved back to the breakfast nook.

"I heard you an' Mum talking last night," Noah said around a mouthful of Verry Berry.

The Doctor looked at the boy, deciding to let him lead the conversation. "And?" he asked.

Noah had the decency to look a little abashed, if only for a few seconds. The Doctor waved his hand at the boy's embarrassment. "You've decided to go away again."

The Doctor inhaled, and then nodded slowly. The little boy just looked into his bowl, poking at the coloured corn pops. "And what do you think of that, Noah?"

The boy said something the Doctor wasn't expecting. "You only just came, and you're leaving again." He pushed his cereal away, and said to his hands, "I don't like it."

"Ah, your eavesdropping needs some work, my friend," the Doctor sighed. He might as well know now, considering the conversation would have to happen sooner or later. "It's not just your mum and I. Oh no," he sniffed and took his glasses off, setting them beside his untouched orange juice and newspaper. "No sir, you're coming with us. And Baxter, too, by the looks of your telepathic connection."

Noah visibly stiffened, his head whipping up to look in the Doctor's eyes. "I swear I'm not hurting him," the words tumbled out his mouth, and the dog hauled himself up from the floor to reassuringly place his head in the boy's lap. "It doesn't hurt him at all and really, it was an accident. The very first time I didn't even mean to and I don't even know how to make it stop, really. He's just there and he's always been there and I swear to you, it doesn't hurt him-"

"Noah." The Doctor stopped the boy in his tracks, voice calm and low. The boy's eyes were watery, and his hands were petting the giant dog's head and ears with a loving adoration. "Noah, I know. I know all of that, and I know more, too."

Noah looked confused in the way children do, his imagination taking him farther and farther away from the truth. Finally, he asked quietly, "How do you know? How?" He snuffled loudly, trying the way little boys do to not cry in front of their fathers.

"Because you're just like me," the Doctor said softly, a small smile on his lips. "Where'd you think you got it from?"

Noah scrubbed at his face with the sleeve of his housecoat before looking at the Doctor again. "Can we…" the boy spoke softly. "Can we do 'one for one' again?"

"Sure!" The Doctor said. "You first, then. Let's have it."

"What is it called?" Noah asked with wide eyes, his hands having stilled on the dog's ears, stroking them slowly. Neither seemed to even notice he was doing it.

"Telepathy," the Doctor said slowly. He knew the boy was smart, and considered that one good, slow explanation might just be enough for him to understand the basics. "But you've got a different sort going on between the two of you. It's perfectly natural," he added, "so don't you fret about that. I've not seen it with a dog before, but that's because humans, 100 percent pure humans, they can't do it. Their brains just can't handle it. And dogs, well… Dogs and humans just kind of…"

"Go together?" Noah asked.

"Exactly! Like _Jack and Jill¸_ or peanut butter and jelly. Humans have spread themselves all over the stars but their beastly best friends tend to stay on here on Earth." _Shame, really_, the Doctor thought. He'd never met a dog he didn't like, unlike some people he'd encountered. _Except for those dogs with no noses on Barcelona. _He shook his head, like that would shake off the memory. "Anyway," he continued, "it's perfectly normal to create a telepathic link with any other living thing that's also capable." Now the explanation got tricky. "You're capable, Noah, because you're part me." _Oh, that felt weird to say. _"And Baxter here," whose tail thumped obediently, "can do it, too, because he, err, weeelll, uhg… Because he loves you."

Noah nodded and sniffled the last of his panicky tears away. "My turn?" The Doctor asked. Noah nodded again. "When did it first happen?"

"When I found him," Noah said simply. The Doctor shook his head with a slight frown, and so, Noah continued. "He was just a tiny puppy, and I found him in the park." Noah didn't seem to want to say anything else.

"I see," the Doctor said. "But that wasn't all, was it? Why did it happen, Noah?"

"I was sad," Noah said, not meeting his father's eyes. "And I guess Baxter was sad too."

It wasn't enough for the Doctor. _Just regular, normal old sad? That would not have jumpstarted an inter-species mind bond._ "Why were you sad, Noah? This is important."

"Because the other boys were teasing me," he said quietly. He looked up as he added, "they were teasing me because… Because I didn't have a dad."

The Doctor felt both of his hearts swell in anger, but he stamped it down, not wanting it to show on his face. His mind, however, was reeling. _Two lonely creatures; just babies, without their parents. Two minds would connect over that, without question._

"That's changed, Noah. I'm here," the Doctor said before he could help himself.

Noah interrupted him, before he could speak again. "You said I can do because you can do it," he reiterated the Doctor's previous point. "How come you can do it?"

The Doctor inhaled loudly and tugged on his ear, looking for the best kind of explanation. Before he could get a word out, however, Noah interrupted again.

"Wait. You said pure humans _can't_ do it. Does that mean you're not human?" Panic rose in his voice again. "Does that mean I'm not human?!"

He Doctor smiled and nodded, keeping his voice calm. "You're very clever, Noah. Just like your mum," he looked for his next words carefully. "We're not fully human because we're not supposed to be. You and me – and your mum a little, too – we're not fully human, Noah, and that's okay."

Noah was breathing quickly, absorbing the news as best he could. The Doctor could feel his thoughts spinning madly. "Then how come," Noah said suspiciously, "I can't do telepathy with Mum?"

"Because," the Doctor said, pointing a slender finger up at the ceiling, somewhere in Rose's general direction, "your mum was _born_ fully human, and somehow, she changed. How, I don't know. I do know it's safe," he added quickly, to keep his son from jumping to conclusions. "And I think I know what happened. But I need to talk to her some more until I'm sure. Anyway, the reason you can't with her is because your mum simply _doesn't know_ that she can. There's a connection between the two of you," he said, "and because out of the three of us, I'm the strongest telepath, I can practically see it."

Noah's brows creased adorably in the middle, thinking hard. "Okay," he said. "But if we're not human, what are we?"

The Doctor couldn't help himself. "You're taking this very well, Noah. Do you want some more breakfast? A banana? Those sugar-mcsugaries don't look like they've held up very well." The Verry Berry was a mass of pink, purple, and blue blobs in fuchsia milk.

"No thank you," he said. "So what are we?"

The Doctor took his first sip of orange juice as he thought this through. "We're a different race, Noah. Every race comes from its own distinct place, that's all. That's the only difference, right?" The Doctor said, wanting to establish some basics first. "Like you've got friends in school whose families come from all over the world, don't you?" Noah nodded in agreement. "So, different skin tones, maybe different hair, sometimes different accents. But, what do they all have in common?"

Noah shook his head.

"Think, Noah. Would you treat any of them differently, based solely on their skin colour or their blue eyes or their hair in braids?"

"No," Noah said. "That's not nice."

"Exactly. You're exactly right. So, yes, we're a different race, and what makes us special, what makes us different, isn't something like skin or eyes or hair. What's different is that we can communicate with our minds." The Doctor looked at Noah carefully. "Do you understand?" he asked. "If you don't, it's okay. I can explain it differently." The Doctor pulled a face. "Weeeell, I could try."

"Try what?" Rose interjected into the conversation, having quietly come into the kitchen without neither men nor beast noticing. The Doctor was torn between smiling and panicking, and so his face kind of got stuck between the two. Rose, however, remembered his antics from their time together years ago, and so didn't pay him any mind at all. She walked up closer to the breakfast table, kissed the Doctor's temple (his face was still a little stuck, and he still couldn't really speak, inconvenienced as he was), and then sidled up to Noah, a hand on his back. She peered into the bowl sitting in the middle of the table, and made a frustrated noise. "Really?" she looked at the Doctor pointedly. He tugged on his ear, facial expression definitely sliding the 'panic' direction. "You fed him sugar for breakfast?"

And with that, the Doctor came back to life. "I, uh, well," he started, like his motors weren't all running. "I woke up and then _they_ woke up and he, he yawned, and I was at a loss, really, Rose – he's not the least like you in the morning – and then the dog was here and, really, if you don't want him to eat it, don't keep it in the house. There certainly isn't any in the TARDIS, thank goodness, and in all honesty, you didn't tell me that the dog was coming with us."

Rose stood beside him, a little speechless. Baxter knew he was being talked about, and his tail thumped against the floor in anticipation.

Rose caught up with the train of thought before Noah did. "'Course the dog is coming with us." She said. After a moment of silence, she whispered, "Why's the dog comin' with us?"

"We're telepathic." Noah added helpfully.

"You're late for school is what you will be if you don't go get dressed. Now, off, the both of ya," she swung her arm in a round-up gesture, and the large dog and the boy half his size went pedalling out of the kitchen, skittering and careening in replicate fashion of how they had entered twenty minutes previously.

She took Noah's vacated place at the breakfast nook, sipping from the boy's forgotten orange juice. The Doctor looked a little aghast. "What?" she asked, concerned at his expression.

"That was a solidly executed seat scam," he said, impressed.

Rose smiled, and her tongue poked out playfully between her teeth. After draining the glass, she looked at the Doctor, and asked, "I have a telepathic dog?"

* * *

"Do I really have to go in today, Mum?" Noah asked a little petulantly, as the trio stood just to the edge of the school grounds. The Doctor, however, stepped in to answer.

"You do indeed, my son, and if we have it our way, today may be one of the very last of your school days." Noah grinned a little manically.

The Doctor inhaled loudly and added, "Maybe don't let that bit slip, okay?"

Rose kissed his cheek and sent Noah running as the first of the bells rang. "We'll be here to get you!" She called after him.

Once he was safely inside the doors, the Doctor turned to face Rose. "So," he said, with a tone of foreboding, "I suppose it's time we went and saw Jackie and Pete."

Rose took his hand and laughed out loud, "Oh, when we tell her what we've planned, you're gonna get a mighty slap, you are."

"Hey now!" The Doctor said, making an effort to sound as cross as he could, "it's your idea that we leave. I said we could stay." He tried to keep his tone joking, but the words were heavier than that.

"I know," Rose said seriously. "I know that, Doctor, but we can't stay here. They need you out there, and you're not leavin' me again, you hear?" The words meant more to Rose than she originally anticipated, and her voice shook with conviction.

"No, Rose," The Doctor said, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "You're my family," he said. "My impossible little family. And we're sticking together if it's the last thing I do." They walked in silence for a few more steps, looking at the full trees around them in the dewy morning. "Besides," he continued, "if I could figure out how to get here, I could certainly wire up a camera and voice lines. If I linked in to the TARDIS's external communication drive and bypassed the standard isolating features solely for one particular device…"

Rose had stopped listening to his plan. Today they were headed to see Jackie and Pete, and if things went well, then Noah would finish school in two more days, and then they would leave. _How to put a lifetime into two days?_ Rose wondered. _How do it was madness indeed._ Her biggest question would remain until the afternoon. _What would her mother say?_

* * *

**A/N**: And there we have it. I think this chapter is sufficiently large, and Noah and the Doctor really did need to have that conversation. Also, I really, really like Baxter. For those who are curious, picture him as being Irish Wolfhound-sized.

Reviews make me feel like I'm full of sunshine, hint hint. Have a Wondrous Wednesday!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Welcome to the fifth chapter! This is getting kind of huge, so let my words stand – this is going to be a looong story. Buckle up if you're in for the ride! A big thank you to those of you who've been reviewing it and sharing your comments; it means the world to me that people take time to share their opinion on my work.

Not much that you need to be aware of going into this chapter, but I can tell you, it was a witch to write. I, uh, really don't like Jackie. It shows a little. She's not painted in the best light, but it helps move the plot forward (at least, that's what I tell myself).

**Disclaimer: **The good Doctor isn't mine. This isn't for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Jackie and Pete no longer lived in the Council House at Powell Estates, but like Rose and Noah had relocated to a quiet home in an adjoining neighbourhood. It was only a ten minute walk away from Noah's school, and so the Doctor and Rose had arrived before they had really reached a conclusion of how the discussion was going to go.

Rose reverted to the classic fall-back. "Just stay quiet," she said. "I'll do the talking. Especially about leaving, okay?"

The Doctor snuffled loudly. "It's fine by me," he said, nonchalant. "But, am I not wrong when I say that Jackie _always_ sees through that one?"

Rose hung on to the Doctor's hand with both of hers, nerves radiating off of her like a beacon. They were standing at the end of the front walk, leading straight up to the front door. "It's funny," he whispered into her ear, "Slitheen? Sure. Rachnos? Okay. Cat-nun-people-nurses? Well, maybe not. Those creatures I can face without a whim or fancy, but nothing," he said, rocking back on his heels as the duo slowly stepped up the pathway, "nothing in the universe scares me quite like-"

_"Rose Tyler, this had better be some kind of joke!"_

Jackie Tyler stood two paces behind them on the pathway, hands on hips, and the proverbial smoke was pouring out of her ears.

* * *

Ten minutes later things were not that much better than when they had started. Jackie had first approached the silent pair, intensely watching the Doctor but only speaking to Rose.

"Is he real?" she asked, just above a whisper. "Rose, is he really here?"

The Doctor snuffed loudly and tugged on his ear. "You could ask me, you know, but no…" His comment, like he expected, went ignored.

"He really is," Rose said quietly.

"He's back," Jackie whispered over and over to herself. Then, realization dawned on her all at once. "Noah!" She yelled, looking back and forth between the two.

Rose reached out a hand to put on her mother's shoulder. "He knows, Mum. They've… Well, they've met."

Now, Jackie finally addressed the Doctor directly. "You're back," she said, tone accusative. "You're back, and I bet you want to take them away with you! Rose, are you leaving?!"

The Doctor quietly voiced, "Well, something like that-" Jackie wouldn't have it. The sound of the slap cracked loudly in the tense air surrounding them. The Doctor took a staggering step back, and Rose gasped.

"Mum! Did ya really need to do that?" She was exasperated, and they'd only been speaking for two minutes.

"Don't you dare start with me, Rose Marion Tyler! This man just blinked himself out of your life one day – left you with a child he had no intention of ever supporting – and now he comes strolling back in and everything is roses? No, Rose, that's not how this works." Jackie took a huge, shaky breath, her anger coming off of her in waves. "This is unacceptable. Totally unacceptable." She turned her attention to the Doctor now. "And _you!_" She yelled, voice going up another notch, "You can climb right back into that damned blue box and go back to wherever the hell it is you came from!"

Pete, who had been upstairs in his study, which conveniently faced the front yard, heard his wife's raised voice, and went to the window to see which neighbourhood hooligan she was ripping on. His surprise upon seeing Rose didn't help matters, and it wasn't until he heard the words 'blue box' that he had any understanding of the situation. With all the haste he could muster, he grabbed his housecoat and took off to the front door, taking the stairs two at a time.

"Jackie!" he yelled, throwing open the front door. She turned to look at him only for a moment before looking back at her daughter and her companion, like they would suddenly blink out of existence if she didn't keep her eyes on them.

"Jackie, come here," Pete said, softer this time. He gestured with his hands encouragingly. "You two," he said, once Jackie was safely tucked into his arms, "come with me."

The duo approached slowly, still holding hands, but both of them visibly shaken. Pete stepped away from Jackie for a moment, and he pulled Rose into a quick, tight hug, kissing the top of her head. He let her go just and quickly, and held out a hand for the Doctor. It was shaken firmly in return, neither man saying a word.

"Now then," Pete said diplomatically. "Jacks, love, why don't you and Rose go to the living room? The Doctor and I will head up to the study, and we'll see if we can sort this out."

* * *

In the study upstairs, Pete took a seat in a high-backed black leather chair beside the fireplace. He gestured for the Doctor to follow suit, and after shrugging out of his trench, he sat down opposite Pete, sighing heavily.

"How did you make it back, Doctor?" Pete, ever-practical, asked the obvious question.

The Doctor scrubbed his hands over his face. "Hard work," he responded. "Eight years of hard work, and all done eight years too late." He looked sadly back at Pete.

"Not too late, Doctor." Pete corrected him gently. "Eight years sooner than we ever thought possible. You know," he said carefully, "she's been working on getting back to you all this time."

The Doctor is folded over on himself as he listened to Pete speak. Elbows on knees, head in his hands. "She's been working at the new Torchwood since she got here."

"Tell me," the Doctor begs quietly, still facing the floor. "How did it go? How was she explained? I know you're in the spotlight." The unspoken words are loud in the air between the two men; _tell me she was okay._

"We made up a story for the press, and it was taken fairly easily. We covered up the death of my Jackie, this world's Jackie," Pete said, his voice thick. He took a moment before continuing. "We made up a sister for Jackie, totally fake, and told the press that Rose was her niece. The 'sister' had just passed away, which explained for the first little while why Rose was living with us. That was all explained, no questions asked." The corner of Pete lips quirked upwards, and he said, "You know, the hard part was explaining the pregnancy."

The Doctor's head raised out of his hands, and concerned flicked through his eyes. "What do you mean?"

Pete gave that Doctor a weird look. "Didn't Rose tell you?" The Doctor only shook his head. "She was pregnant for fourteen months. That one took some manoeuvering from the press."

The Doctor's head tipped back down, and he pushed the heels of his palms over his closed eyes, inhaling sharply. The Doctor's voice was muffled when he spoke. "Time Lords are loomed, not born. I don't even know how Noah is here." His voice was painfully honest.

"Well," Pete said, a smile in his voice, "he's a great kid, regardless. Be proud of him, Doctor." The moments passed in silence, both men lost in their thoughts, finally, Pete spoke again. "What are your plans now?"

The Doctor sighed and leaned back into the leather. "We're leaving, I think," he said, looking towards the empty fireplace. "Going back to the other Universe. I can't travel here. There are too many things at risk of being changed irreparably."

Pete nodded in understanding. "It's your right to be back together as a family. There's no doubt there," he said pensively. "Jackie's not going to be happy; she's so protective of Rose."

The Doctor looked at Pete carefully, and Pete continued. "Jackie was a single mother, and she did her best for Rose…"

The Doctor could see where the train of thought led. "But Rose did the same thing." The Doctor pounded his fist, just once, against the arm of the chair before standing up suddenly. "Doesn't anyone see? Doesn't anyone understand?" He asked to the room at large. "I _didn't know_ she was pregnant, Pete! I didn't even imagine it, not once in all these years. But that doesn't change anything. I want nothing more than to have them with me, nothing more at all." He shoved his hands deeply into his pants pockets and paced the room as Pete watched. "A few measly decades, Pete, that's all I'll have. I haven't looked at either of them properly to figure out how this happened," he ran a desperate hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. "But I know our lifespans just won't match." He looked sadly at the man who sat there watching him. "I've been a father before, Pete. It hurts."

Pete looked back at him, and said something the Doctor wasn't expecting. "I've only been Rose's father for a few years," his voice was soft, "but try to convince me, Doctor, that they haven't been the best years of my life."

The Doctor willingly dismissed the real meaning in the words. "Exactly! Exactly, and then something comes and takes it away. If we do what she wants, you'll be losing Rose forever! I can't allow myself to do that. I mean, we were talking last night and I nodded and um-hummed when it needed to be said, but I have a decision to make alone on this matter, Pete, because I don't know if she understands all the consequences. We really, really can't ever come back!" There were tears in the Doctor's voice that he refused to show on his face, while his hands trembled in their dark pockets.

Pete stood up forcefully and stopped just inches away from the Doctor, stern eyes looking into his distressed ones. "Listen to yourself, Doctor, at war with your own options." Pete placed a hand on the Doctor's shoulders, and continued to speak. "You're not giving Rose enough credit. If this is what she wants to do, she's thinking of her family. _Your_ family." He took a breath and continued. "Everyone leaves home, Doctor. We all do. It might just be Rose's turn. And," he added, making his final point, "just because she's leaving doesn't mean that I'm going to stop being her father. There's no better feeling in the world than knowing that she's happy."

Pete took his hand off the Doctor's shoulders and the other man continued to pace before coming to a stop beside the large window.

"Ask yourself this, Doctor," Pete's voice came from near the fireplace, "would this decision be so hard to make if you hadn't already made up your mind?"

* * *

In the living room, things had cycled back and forth from shouting to silence. Rose had told her mother that the family was leaving, no questions asked. Jackie's only response had been a resolute 'no'. Since then, a stalemate of sorts had been born, and neither woman would look at the other. Jackie wouldn't let Rose speak.

"Listen to yourself, Rose!" she had said, pointing a finger in her daughter's face. "You're leaving your family behind to run away with an alien. _An alien_. Tell me this isn't the truth."

"Mum," Rose pleaded quietly, "Noah is coming with us. We're not leaving him behind."

"Oh, grand," Jackie yelled. "The baby that the alien doesn't care about-"

"Don't you dare say that!" Rose screamed back, standing up from the couch. "Stop calling him that! You're calling _Noah _an alien, Mum!" Tears threatened to fall, and Rose wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.

"What about us, Rose?" Jackie asked coldly. "Your mother and father. Your family. You're content to leave us behind?" She kept her emotions off of her face, and Rose wanted to slap her.

"I don't want to!" She yelled, looking up at the ceiling rather than looking at her mother. "But I have to do what's best for us. We need to go," she pleaded for her to understand.

"So you're going to leave, ungrateful for everything we did for you when you had nothing to your name but a baby on the way?"

Rose rounded on her mother with cold eyes. "It's about the money?" She yelled. "That's your grandson and you're angry about the money?" She threw her hands in the air and let them fall back against the sides of her thighs. Sighing loudly, she grabbed her purse, reached in for her wallet, and tossed it on the coffee table, upsetting their empty china teacups. "We don't need money anymore. Take whatever you want until you think you've been paid back." Rose's emotions had long gone past only being angry. "You know what," she said, voice deadly quiet and falsely flippant, "take it all. We're never coming back."

Rose walked all the way to the other end of the room before looking back at her mother. "I've always known you were shallow," she said coldly, "but I never thought that it would extend to my son. And if it does," Rose made a sad face, "then he's better off away from you."

"Rose," Jackie said, sounding hurt, "that's not true! That's not true at all!"

Rose yelled from where she was. "Prove it, then! Prove it!"

"I've had enough of this," Jackie, said, standing up. She shook a finger at Rose. "You made your decision long before you got here. You said 'forever' to a bleedin' alien who abandoned you anyway-"

"HE SAVED MY LIFE!" Rose screamed desperately.

"Who abandoned you," Jackie thundered on, "and now that he's back, you trust him with your son?" Rose was silent on the opposite side of the room, tears streaming down her face.

"I love him," Rose whispered.

"More than you love Noah?" Jackie challenged.

Rose slowly walked toward her. "How can you ask that? It's not the same at all." Rose said as she shook her head.

"You're going to leave, and take Noah out there, expose him to all that danger?" Jackie was finally getting to her point, her anger wearing away.

"Noah's a Time Lord," Rose said quietly. "He needs to know that. He needs to know what he's capable of. He needs to see life out in the stars. It's what he's meant for." Rose looked at her mother beseechingly. "Please tell me that you understand, Mum. Please!"

"I don't, Rose." Jackie sighed. She walked slowly towards her daughter, arms extended. "I don't understand it at all, sweetheart," pulling Rose more than a little unwillingly into a hug. "But you've made your decision, and you're not gonna let me change your mind." She took a step back and held Rose at an arm's length, looking at her carefully. "And if you're leavin' for good, I'll not have you leaving here angry at me."

"Oh, Mum," Rose whispered, and this time she fell fully into her mother's embrace. "I don't want to leave you behind, not at all. But I can't stay here. It's so beautiful," she said. "It's so, so beautiful, and Noah will learn so much more. He'll learn the things he needs to know." Rose laughed to herself, muffled by her mother's shoulder. "Just think," she said, stepping back. "He'll learn to fly the TARDIS."

Jackie sighed and wiped her hands off on her pants, like she could scrub away the conversation. "I guess," Jackie said sadly as she sat back down on the couch, straightening out the toppled teacups, "I guess everyone leaves home eventually."

* * *

"So," the Doctor said, as the front door closed behind them, "we're leaving?"

Rose took his hand in hers and held it close to her body. "We are. With Noah, as soon as school's out." She tried to make her voice chipper, but after the argument with her mother, she just didn't have the strength.

The Doctor looked at his watch, and raised an eyebrow. "When's school out?"

"Two more days," Rose mumbled. "Wait, that's a watch, not a calendar." She pulled on his wrist and brought it to her face for closer inspection, just an a holographic projection jumped out, accurately displaying first the Milky Way galaxy, then their solar system, and then, finally, the moon's orbit around the Earth.

The Doctor let out of a happy-sounding huff. "It's a little wibbly-wobbly-"

"Timey-wimey." Rose finished. The watch let out a metallic pinging sound after two orbits.

"It goes ding when there's stuff, Rose Tyler," he said. "But, I mean, today, when's school out?"

"Oh!" Rose said, distracted from the now normal-looking analog watch. "School's out at half two, but Noah's got soccer until half four."

The Doctor nodded and swung their joined hands between them. "So we've got just under six hours to do whatever with?"

Rose looked at the Doctor carefully. "I'd say that's right. What are you thinkin', Doctor? I can hear the gears turnin' in there."

He gave her a sly smile. "How would you like to visit the TARDIS? She's been missing you."

Rose grinned, feeling her energy come back to her. "I'd love it," she said, tongue poking out between her teeth. "Oh, I'd just love to, Doctor."

"There's one thing," her companion added after a few moments' silence. "I'd like to run a few tests on you."

Rose turned and looked at him, making a bothered face. "What for? I'm fine, Doctor."

"They're not really for you, Rose. It's… It's about Noah." He said.

Rose stopped walking beside him, frozen on the spot. "Is he okay?" she whispered.

"Oh, God, yes, Rose, it's not like that," he said quickly. She heaved a great sigh before they started to walk again. "It's just that he has more Time Lord traits than I really would expect for him to have, and I think it's got a lot to do with you." Rose still looked confused. "It's not that you would have done something on purpose. It's more like it was something that you were exposed to at one point, and that maybe it was in your system long enough to affect Noah."

Rose recalled the conversation this morning. "So, you mean like his telepathy?"

The Doctor made an indecisive face. "Well, yes and no. His intelligence. His advanced conversation skills. His motor control. Potentially, how long he'll live and whether or not he'll be able to regenerate." Rose had a suddenly hopeful look on her face, and the Doctor wanted to stop her before she got ahead of herself. "I don't think he will. But we need to know. And you, my Rose, are biologically half of the puzzle."

Rose nodded as they continued to walk, the roof of her own home visible in the near distance. She leaned her head against his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around her back in the early summer air. Britain was blooming with the possibilities of a summertime just around the corner, but Rose's thoughts were far from the Earth around her. She was looking up at the clouds, imaging all the stars just outside of her vision.

On the floor of Rose's mind, underneath all her consciousness and all her memories, a golden wolf, curled in the posture of sleep, opened one eye. Stretching lazily, the beast rose up and started to pace, sparks flying behind each footfall. The time was coming, and it was coming so very soon.

* * *

**A/N: **And there we have chapter five. Holy cow, this one was hard to write. Your comments and suggestions mean the world to me. Any questions? Feel free to let me know. The next chapter will probably come your way by Saturday. It looks like I've missed Thursday by an hour or so, so have a Fantastic Friday!


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **Dear readers, this is chapter six, and it's huge. I want to apologize for skipping out on the "I'll probably post again on Saturday" – I was a little too hopeful with school and work and all those things, as 20-something university students tend to be. That said, I also adventured out as the TARDIS herself for a Halloween bash, and the costume was a success! It's just another way that Whodom has taken over my life.

So, welcome to chapter six. Mature themes will be explored soon, but not presently. I just don't know how to get them there.

Your comments and encouragements and questions all mean so very much to me. I want to thank all of you (both the regular commenters and the one-offs) for your kind words. It really makes all this so much more worthwhile when I know that people care about this project. To those of you who have never commented before, please consider it. It'll take maybe 25 seconds to type a few words, be they "OMG this is amazing!1!" or "u suck dis is bs MARTHA/JACK 4EVA!" I really do consider your feedback when it comes to things like constructive criticism and plotholes, and your other sunshiney comments make me feel like I'm crying rainbows.

**Disclaimer: **The good Doctor is not mine. I am not making a profit off of this material; this is my own private work of fiction and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

"Eight years is a long time," Rose whispered as she approached the TARDIS. The Doctor stood just an arm's length behind her, watching Rose reacquaint herself with that famous blue box. After a few more moments outside, the Doctor pulled a little silver key out from the depths of his trench pocket.

"Ready?" he asked, a smile both in his voice and on his face.

As Rose stepped into the ship, she turned to slip through the narrow doorway, and smiled up at the Doctor. Just over his shoulder, she noticed that they'd left the garage down ajar. "Doctor," Rose asked, "you wouldn't mind locking the door, would ya?" She pointed just behind him.

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly, and in three long strides he was on the far side of the garage, fiddling with the persnickety lock. Rose, meanwhile, had slipped into the TARDIS.

She felt the familiar golden hum she always heard in the TARDIS, but now, it seemed to be more inside of her own head than a sound her ears were hearing. Rose blinked, disoriented, as the golden hum became a light that clouded her vision. She made to turn around, intent on asking the Doctor what on Earth he'd changed, but found herself unable to do so. Her motions were sluggish, and like she was a character in a slow-motion sequence, she could see the echo of each movement in the air around her. The light that was bothering her eyes wasn't coming from around her, it was coming from inside of her, she realized, as she saw her skin take on the warm hue. She felt incredibly dizzy, but some other force was holding her upright, arms and legs starfished as she stood, unaware.

On the floor of her mind, the lonely wolf leapt from its pacing circuits, and the last thing Rose saw were bright, golden sparks showering down behind her eyes.

As the Doctor turned around to walk back to the TARDIS, he felt his hearts stutter in his chest. Spilling out through the open doorway was the bright golden light of free huon energy – it was the kind of sight only seen during regeneration. _But Rose_, the Doctor's thoughts flew in his mind like panicked birds. _What in the name of Rassilon is happening?_ He covered the distance in a few giant strides and hung onto the doorframe, eyes wide and mouth agape. Rose stood, arms and legs akimbo, surrounded by a golden snowstorm of free-flying huon particles. Just as suddenly as it had started, the wildly spinning cloud seemed to halt in its tracks and reverse. Rose's hair stood on end, obscuring her face. The Doctor didn't dare approach – for all he knew, the free radical particles would jumpstart his own regeneration, and that wouldn't help matters. The mass started to slow down and descended on Rose until she was coated, head to toe, in gold. In a blinding flash, the glitter was gone.

Rose's arms dropped to her sides, and her breathing was laboured, but steady. She swept the hair out her eyes messily, and turned to face the doorway. "Doctor?" she asked faintly.

The Doctor took a few slow steps towards her, arms outstretched. "Rose, what happened?"

She sighed and tried desperately to focus her vision. "Dunno," she said simply.

The Doctor reached her and gently brushed his knuckles under her chin. In that moment, the spell was broken, and Rose fell into a heap on the floor, the Doctor snatching at her clothes to keep her upright.

* * *

The Doctor had swept Rose up into his arms, and running, carried her down to the ship's infirmary. It was usually a long walk down one of the main branching corridors, and for a casual visit, it would've taken three lefts, two rights, and a secret door to find. The TARDIS, being sentient as she was, had placed it on this occasion just to the right of the console room. While the Doctor appreciated the gesture, he was slow on the uptake, and it took him a full minute of pacing the room with Rose hanging limply in his arms to realize that he was already where he needed to be.

He dumped her a little less than gracefully onto the examination table, his reason and logic slowly overcoming over his panic. Pulling his sonic out from an inside breast pocket, the Doctor talked to himself as he worked. "No concussion," he noted under his breath, "and no signs of cerebral trauma." He gently touched her face, pulling her eyelids up. "Pupils are even and reactive," The sonic was aimed lower and the Doctor continued to mutter to no one in particular. "No cardiac damage, breathing pattern normal, blood is well oxygenated, enzymes are uninhibited."

The Doctor scanned quickly over the rest of Rose's body. Had it not been for what he had seen earlier, he would have assumed that the young woman was only deeply asleep. The thought made him uncomfortable.

The Doctor rushed over to a cabinet off to one side of the room, and threw open the cupboards. Little vials of all kinds of colours and consistencies were pushed out of the way; pill bottles with tablets in all shapes and sizes toppled over one another as the Doctor searched. Finally, in a lower cupboard in a dusty box, the Doctor found what he was looking for – four empty graduated cylinders, each no longer than his little finger. Behind the ancient cardboard box was another one the Doctor required, and he gently pulled out a long, thin graduated syringe. Eyes sweeping over the littered countertop, he grabbed a bright orange antiseptic and a handful of cotton balls before returning to Rose's side.

The Doctor set all four cylinders upright just behind him where he stood, and he held the syringe gingerly between his teeth. He pushed Rose's sleeve up and swiped the antiseptic over the crook of her elbow without thinking about what he was doing too hard. The Doctor popped the seal-top off of the needle and, whispering an apology, gently slipped it into the vein. He pulled back slowly until its cylinder was full, and in a smooth, practiced action, pressed a cotton ball over the tiny puncture before drawing back the needle. Rose's features hadn't changed at all, and when the Doctor glanced up, she was still in a peaceful slumber.

The Doctor turned away from Rose, her head lolling on her shoulder as she breathed. Instead, he focused his attentions on the little vials, evenly distributing small samples of Rose's blood into each. On each vial he ran a barrage of chemical tests, reserving the fourth for what might be the most important.

Adding the occasional droplet to the test sample, he watched as it changed consistency. Then, just to be sure of what he was seeing, the Doctor aimed his sonic screwdriver at the sample. Behind it, a blue hologram was projected, magnified several thousands of times for the details. There, before the Doctor's eyes, Rose's DNA strands were being built, taken apart, and the individual atoms were used rebuild the structure again. He amplified the magnification tenfold, and watched with wonder as realization dawned. Behind him, Rose let out a long, lazy yawn.

"Doctor?" she asked, confused as to why she found herself haphazardly laying atop the examination table.

He turned around to look at her, all smiles and cheeriness. Stowing the screwdriver in his pocket, he went to her. Taking her face in his hands he kissed first her forehead, then both eyelids, and then, very slowly, kissed her once on the lips. She smiled shyly back at him, questions written in the wrinkles on her brow.

"Why am I here?" she asked, gesturing around the room. Rose noticed the cupboard to her left, with its contents scattered over the countertop and floor. "Is everything okay?"

The Doctor held her hands and looked at her seriously. "You're quite fine now, I think. But, Rose Tyler, I need for you to remember what happened. You've got to do that all on your own."

She squeezed his hands in hers and closed her eyes tightly, trying desperately to recall those last few moments before she stepped into the TARDIS. She looked at him sadly. "There's nothing there," she said. "I remember asking you about the garage door. Glowing. Being dizzy. And now I'm here."

The Doctor smiled half-heartedly. "Yeah," he mumbled, "some stuff happened in between those bits."

Rose snorted and shoved at his shoulder. As he shifted, she could see behind him, to the four little vials lined up neatly. She found the sight a little grotesque, and in pushing herself up into a sitting position, felt the tiny pinching sensation from where the Doctor had stuck her with the needle. She held out her arm to him. "Did you take my blood?" she asked incredulously.

The Doctor tugged on his ear as he stood. "I did," he said sheepishly. "I mean, it was something I was going to do anyway, but, I mean, I didn't really have a chance to ask permission first. Is it okay?"

_There he is, after everything, asking if a needle poke is okay, _Rose thought to herself. She let out a single laugh and waved him away with her hand, and said, "Yeah, don't worry 'bout it."

The Doctor didn't take her words at face value. "There's something you should know, Rose. And I am worrying about it."

Rose's carefree expression fell, and she looked at the Doctor with concern clear on her features. "What is it?" she whispered. "What's wrong with me?"

The Doctor waved his hands, as if he wanted to clear the air. "Nothing _wrong_," he said hastily. "Just different. Unexpected." He thought for a moment, trying to figure out how to explain what he needed to say. Some of what he knew now Rose would have to remember on her own, but surely, she was better off knowing what exactly it was that he'd seen in her blood.

"Well," he started, "it's a little a lot sciency. And not the timey-wimey kind. This is some serious science." He stopped, and looked at the vials in wonder again. "It's some seriously cool science."

"Doctor!" Rose admonished. "I'm not your science fair project. Get to it, would ya?"

"Right, right! You're certainly not; no, you're Rose Tyler, and you are very, very special. There's no one else like you in the universe." He pulled his sonic out of his pocket as he continued to speak. "So, normal, boring, totally human DNA is made of two strings, if you will. And they're, well, they're kind of braided together, okay?" He raised his eyebrows to see if she was following. Rose nodded discretely.

"Double helix," she mumbled. The Doctor was a little surprized.

"You've done your homework!" he explained happily.

Rose shrugged. "Just some reading I remember from when I had Noah," she admitted quietly. The Doctor knew better from her tone of voice than to pursue that line of conversation presently.

"But you don't have it," the Doctor said succinctly.

Rose was confused. "But I'm human. I have human DNA." She looked at him like he'd sprouted another limb.

"You do," the Doctor conceded. "But you have something else, too. And this something else has changed the structure of your DNA into something that's never been seen or heard of." He looked back at the vial, and gingerly picked up the one on the far left. Aiming the sonic at it, the little blue hologram came back, but this time the Doctor kept the image still. "As you can see," he said, as he pointed out with his free hand, "there's your normal, boring, human DNA. Those two thick cords that run down the middle. See them?" Rose nodded.

"But," the Doctor added, "look closely at the outside. Do you see all those little branches? They're like centipede legs coming off of your double helix."

Rose made a face at the analogy, but she had to agree with him. She'd seen pictures of human DNA, and this just didn't look right. "So, then, what is it?"

The Doctor sighed. "You have to come across your own memories," he said, "but, if my suspicions are right, this is what happened to you when you looked into the heart of the TARDIS all those years ago. I also think this is why you collapsed when you came in – being reunited rekindled a dying bond."

Rose was still unsure. "But if this happened back then, what is it?"

The Doctor looked at her over the rim of his spectacles. "This, Rose Tyler, is what makes you the Bad Wolf."

"But I haven't been her for years," Rose protested, "how can that still be there? How come it's so permanent? You took it out of me," she said, her voice shaking. "You died for me when you took it out!"

"I know," the Doctor said, frown firmly in place. "There's more to it, though, I think. This change is cleanly written all across your DNA; it repeats where it's supposed and it's original script where it should be. You didn't get the TARDIS's DNA, no. Something was created within you that is now uniquely yours." The Doctor paused in his explanation. "And I think," he continued, looking at Rose carefully, "that this very change is the reason why we have a son."

* * *

For the rest of the conversation, the pair moved back to the console room – after passing through the restored twisting corridor and secret doorway – Rose sat down heavily on the captain's seat.

"Start from the beginning, Doctor. I'm really not sure what you're on about here." Rose's tone was impatient, but the Doctor could see through to her nervousness.

"I had no idea that you could've gotten pregnant, Rose. Really. There's no way it should have happened naturally." They sat face to face in the captain's chair and the Doctor reached out to touch Rose's shoulder. "You had normal, two-stranded DNA. At least I thought you did – and that's what you're supposed to have. But as we've just figured out, you don't. You've got four strands." Rose nodded as he continued to speak. "And here's the kicker. Time Lords have four strands. That's just the way we're made."

"And we're supposed to be incompatible? Is that what you're aimin' at here, Doctor?" Rose asked.

"You're exactly right. Your haploid cells would have only had one strand, and mine, dividing equally, would've had two. DNA can't exist in a triple-helix, because the nitrogen atoms along the centre – along the spine, if you will – all have negative charges, and they would push away from each other, all the time, just like the same ends of two magnets." The Doctor paused, and then gestured dramatically with his hands. "There never could have been a Noah – any child, really – because it's DNA would simply blow itself apart with the familiar poles facing one another."

Rose's brow creased. "I get how the DNA doesn't exist, but what's a haploid cell? And couldn't Noah just have two of mine for one of yours?"

The Doctor made a face and changed his language. "Haploid cells are sex cells. Your eggs, if you will. My - "

Rose held up a hand. "Okay. Got it."

The Doctor chuckled. "But that's not what happened. Because sitting at a school desk right now, our son is learning world capitals." He smiled at Rose softly. "And your special DNA is why."

He held out all of the fingers on both his hands, a little distance between them. "So," the Doctor said, "we each started out with four lines of DNA." Then he wiggled his fingers, and that was suddenly reduced to two on each hand. "Haploid cells divided evenly, as they should," and then he put both his hands together, four fingers side by side. "And created something else that was still in balance. It couldn't have happened with only three, the structure would have fallen apart," the Doctor let the demonstration fall into Rose's lap, and he gently touched her thigh. "But there were four strands in balance. And so now, there are four strands in Noah. Two from me, one from you, Rose, and one, it looks like, from the Bad Wolf herself."

Rose stilled the Doctor's hand with her own. "What does this mean for him?' she asked quietly.

"I don't really know," the Doctor said. "It's not like he came together under a meta-physical existential crisis. He was made that way. I don't know what kind of abilities he has. Maybe, because he's got four strands, that balance allows him to utilise the best of both worlds." The Doctor ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. Rose reached out and ran her fingers through it, trying to order the dishevelled strands. The Doctor leaned into her touch, finding nostalgia in the familiarity of the action. "But for you," he mumbled to himself, lost in thought. "Look at you, Rose," he said, taking her face in his hands. "You've had a baby, raised the child, and you're supposed to have aged eight years." He softly stroked the skin of her cheeks. "But you're not a day over the last time I saw you. Really. And that's not just good genes. That's these genes."

The Doctor sighed, and gathered Rose up into his arms as he spoke. She didn't protest, but rather held tightly to the lapels of his suit jacket. "So this is what I mean when I say I'm worried about you. What we both took for granted now has no meaning, Rose. We have no idea how long you're going to live." She looked at him sadly, fingers tracing over his five 'o'clock shadow. "And that calls up another serious question," he continued. "How long is Noah going to live?"

* * *

They lingered like that for a while longer; Rose bundled into the Doctor's lap, him with his hands in her hair and rubbing her back, both of them simply grateful to be quiet and together again in such a familiar place. The quiet extended and neither paid much attention to the time as it slipped away – they potentially had Time at their fingertips now, there was no need to count the seconds. Eventually, the Doctor let his hand come to rest under Rose's chin, and she turned to face him.

Before he could speak, she interrupted him. "I missed you," she whispered. "So much."

The Doctor smiled and held her close. "Me too," was all he could muster past the lump in his throat. But then, like always, he recovered, and his tone was chipper and bright. "I said I'd bring you back to the TARDIS, but you've not seen much of it, have you now?" He gently slipped her out of his lap and the pair stood, hand in hand. "Lead the way," he said softly.

Rose turned, and the two of them meandered down corridor after corridor, not going anywhere in particular, and the TARDIS not placing any meaningful destinations in their path. They did, however, find a dusty pool table and a full rack of long, golden cues beside it. Rose made a mental note that they had one – she'd had no idea. They continued to walk, and the Doctor at one point slammed his hand against a door as Rose's went to turn the handle.

"That's the swimming pool," he said significantly.

Rose's eyes were bright. "Oh, let's go, then!"

The Doctor made to grab her wrist before she could turn the knob. "You don't want to ever open this door, Rose. There's a very large and very unhappy giant squid in the pool."

Rose was flabbergasted. "Tell it to leave!" she said crossly.

"I _can't_," the Doctor implored. "I put it there!"

Rose turned away from the door with disappointment written on her face. "Of all of time and space," she mumbled to herself, "only you would put a stray squid in _your own_ swimming pool."

* * *

Three corridors later, they were in a part of the ship Rose had never seen before. The hallway looked just the same, sure, the metal grating on the floor, where the lower levels were visible in tiny snatches, and the hallways were the same warm taupe colour with swirls in the paint and large metal rivets along the floor and ceiling. It was the doors down this corridor that made it so different, though. Not the standard metal hatches everywhere else on the ship, there were three doors along this hallway that were a darkly stained, heavy-looking wood, each intricately carved, and each unique.

Rose turned and looked at the Doctor, letting go of his hand and running her fingers over the artwork. "Doctor," she asked, "where are we?"

The Doctor's face was neutral. "Find out," he said, eyebrows raised and hands deep in his pockets.

Rose opened the door slowly – it swung in mostly on its own weight, and inside the room it was dark like nighttime, with only the glow from small lamps placed about the room. Rose stepped inside slowly, and the Doctor followed.

Directly in front of her, maybe fifteen paces away, was a huge, high four-poster bed. Its sheets were rumpled and the pillows were scattered over the surface, but the luxury was obvious from the bedframe itself. It was the same, dark, rich wood of the door, with a tall, wide headboard covered in beautiful carvings and what might just be writing. The posts had ornate tops, and all the furniture in the room matched. Two bedside tables, a tall wardrobe, and off to one side, sort of in its own nook, was a lady's dressing table and boudoir, complete with a little stool and a elegant, albeit dusty, mirror.

The room was cavernous, with vaulted ceilings that seemed to end in stars and moonlight – Rose understood it was just a comforting illusion provided by the TARDIS, but the sight took her breath away. The room seemed to just keep going in both directions, and she took a few more hesitant steps, feeling that the Doctor had stayed where he was by the open doorway.

Farther in, there was a grand, dark desk with a highbacked leather chair behind it. Off to the side, bookcases lined the walls and seemed to go all the way up to the imagined stardust. Big, broken-in leather chairs with deep cushions and wide arms sat together in small clusters, reminding Rose of important politicians with their heads bowed in deep discussion.

In the other direction, when Rose looked over her shoulder, she could see a long, low daybed with thick black rugs on the floor, just until her vision fell upon a beautiful, shining piano. On the opposite side of the piano there was a long wall of mirrors, reflecting the warm light from the lamps and the twinkling of the stars.

Rose turned back and sought the Doctor, who was leaning against the wall just inside the doorway. She gently reached out for him, and he took her hand, though he didn't move from the wall. She tugged his fingers once more, gently, and he shifted, taking two slow steps to meet her.

"Is this your room?" Rose whispered.

"Yeah, but," he whispered back, shrugging. He looked at her carefully before finishing his sentence, choosing instead to look up at the fake stars as he spoke. "It could be our room, if you like." His voice was just a whisper, and if Rose hadn't been watching his lips, she would've sworn she hadn't heard him.

She reached up and touched the side of his face, bringing his eyes back down to hers. The Doctor stumbled over his words, voice still soft. "If you don't want to, it's okay. Your room is still here, all pink and cozy." He smiled at her, trying to make the words mean less.

"No," she whispered back. "I'd…" she lost her voice, but her eyes stayed trained on the Doctor as she spoke. "I'd really like to stay with you."

* * *

**A/N: **So, how was that? I've read in a few other fanfics that the Doctor's bedroom is like this dark gothic paradise, and I just loved that idea so I ran with it. Also, if the DNA conversation doesn't make any sense, I can provide a less in-character, more my-thought-process explanation in the intro to the next chapter.

Happy Whoing, everyone! The next chapter will be up before the weekend, surely.

PS: Stay safe with Hurricane Sandy! It's always a good idea to listen to local weather experts when it comes to this stuff. Also, you should listen to your moms and stay away from your computers during thunderstorms – it's a long story, but my sister's bedroom blew up during a thunderstorm and the only reason she's 29 instead of in the ground is because our mother literally yanked her (and the wheely chair) out of her bedroom maybe three seconds before lightning directly hit our house. Fun facts: every fuse was blown, some of the lightbulbs exploded, my father's tablesaw started, and the heater in my bedroom wouldn't turn off for three days. So, yeah. Listen to the weatherman.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: ** I welcome everyone to the seventh installment of this project of mine. For those of you who have been following from the beginning, I truly appreciate it. For those who have just stumbled upon this, welcome to a wacky story that's only just begun. There are adventures and friends and many questions left – this journey has only now stretched its wings for the first time. There's still lots I have to learn about the characters as I write them. I'm considering doing some individual character studies of everyone important – if I get enough positive feedback on the idea, I'll post them. Don't worry, they'll be canon to this universe, but they won't be serials important to this piece. They'd really just be for my own benefit.

To everyone who had been commenting, it means the world. Thank you so, so much. Nothing brightens my day more than the shining words you leave me.

**On a separate note**: to all of those affected by Hurricane Sandy, know that my thoughts are with you and those you love. I wish a speedy recovery to anyone who suffered injury during the storm. This goes not only to American citizens, but also to those in Cuba, Haiti, and the Dominican Republic. Though I think we all know that we won't be seeing any of that news coverage any time soon.

That was my political schpiel for the day. No further broadcasts.

**And now the rating goes up, like I said it would. **Boy, does it ever. If you're under 18 years of age, skedaddle. No ifs, ands, or buts.

**Disclaimer:** Once again, friends, I do not, under any circumstances, own Doctor Who, nor do I have any affiliation with the BBC and BBC3 networks. This is a work of fiction for my private pleasure; I am not making any profit, and no copyright infringement in intended.

* * *

Without pausing, the Doctor swept Rose up into his embrace, his nose buried in her hair, her face in the crook of his neck. They stood like that in silence, both of them full of thoughts and questions and neither sure how to voice them.

Rose turned herself around in the Doctor's arms, now both of them looking back into the darkened bedroom. She took his wrist in her hand, looking at the delicate watch he wore. She couldn't read its face, and the gears and springs could be seen the whole way through. The Doctor, however, understood the gesture. His chin rested on her shoulder and he spoke in her ear. "It's not even half eleven yet," he whispered, despite the moonlight and stars overhead.

Rose turned her face to look at him, her nose touching his cheek. "All the time in the world," she said softly, her breath warm along the Doctor's neck.

Just looking into the bedroom made Rose's heart race. She was nervous, she knew, but had a hard time explaining to herself why it was so. _Eight years is a long time,_ she thought again,_ especially to go without being touched by someone. _She looked back at the Doctor.

He whispered again, "we don't have to, Rose. Your room is still here."

She shook her head softly, but stepped out of his arms. Holding both his hands in hers, she led them out of the room, and the door swished softly shut behind them.

The Doctor blinked in the bright artificial light of the corridor, such a stark difference between this neutral space and the personal haven of his bedroom. That he and Rose had never been in there together somehow made this ground easier to walk together – there were no memories to fight, no expectations.

_Not true_, the Doctor thought to himself. _That room is full of expectations. That room is a commitment._ He sighed and his own thoughts interrupted himself. _You have a child together already, don't be daft – that's _commitment_, you fool._

He hadn't really noticed that they were walking again, Rose this time with a little more purpose. Shortly, they came to a familiar doorway, this one also a heavy wood, but done in the double-wide panelled style of a cruiseliner's French doors. Within them was not an extravagant ballroom, but instead a more familiar room that meant so much more to both of them.

Rose had purposefully brought them to the library. A safe place. A neutral place. That said, it was much more private than the console room, and didn't carry the unwelcome connotations of the infirmary.

Once the Doctor had tuned in to where he was, he took the lead, pulling himself alongside to the deep, comfortable leather couch, complete with brass studs and delicately carved clawed feet. He sat down comfortably, long legs and gangly arms stretched out to impossible angles, while Rose skimmed the endless shelves. Texts so properly ancient that they were actually on scrolls, on the same shelf beside a complete set of what might be the universe-wide version of the Encyclopaedia Britannica. There were more languages than she could count – some of them so old they hadn't been spoken in centuries, and other copies she knew of on the far side of the library which were all generally written in the future; languages that technically didn't exist yet. Rose entertained the thought that maybe those books sat there empty – all their binding and blank pages in place, waiting for the exact moment that the TARDIS came into existence of their time. She fancied the idea of letters alternately flying through the air to get to where they should be, and then sometimes slipping off of their pages like the ink was wet when they went back in time.

Rose couldn't read all the titles and authors' names – she suspected the TARDIS didn't translate because she knew Rose wanted to read them as they were, tasting the foreign sounds on her tongue like they were famous delicacies of planets visited and forgotten.

From behind her shoulder, the Doctor's disembodied voice met her back. "Penny for your thoughts?"

Rose quipped back before she could help herself. "How many autographs have you got?"

The Doctor chuckled. "Not a one," he said, almost sadly. "But I met Shakespeare. With Martha. You'd have really liked her, I think. Ever so smart, she was."

Rose didn't really know what to do with that comment. "Oh?" was all she could manage.

The Doctor nodded absently. "I got the distinct feeling he'd get along just fine with our Captain Jack."

Rose understood the latent meaning in his words and let out a snort of laughter. Then she paused, making a face. "But, they never washed back then," nose wrinkled. "And his breath! Ugh…"

The Doctor rubbed the back of his neck before standing. "That's what Martha said to him." He took a few steps towards Rose, leaning over to run his slender fingers over the countless spines and bindings. "I believe her exact words were, 'Go brush your teeth, Billy.'"

Rose stood there aghast. "No!" she exclaimed. "You can't just say stuff like that to Shakespeare!"

The Doctor turned to look at her, smile stretching his features. "That's why you'd like Martha."

Rose turned back to the shelves, and now it was the Doctor's turn to bare his thoughts. "I missed you so much, Rose Tyler." He reached out, gently touching her hair, brushing the flyaway strands back behind her ears. Feeling like their time standing in the bedroom had opened a path to another set of conversations, the Doctor made a move on to new ground. He let his hand slip from where it was in her hair, down her neck, across her collarbone, and then, so very lightly, his slender fingers traced down Rose's side, hand resting comfortably on the natural bump and hollow of her hip bone. "All of you," he whispered, voice low.

Rose felt like she could barely breathe. Holding hands and hugging and loving the Doctor, that was all comfortable. Rose had been doing that for years, even in his absence. But the physical expressions of love and desire between them… _Well, _Rose thought, her mind reeling as her eyes locked on his, _now it all seems so much bigger. It's so, so much more._

* * *

Nine years previous:

Adventures, when they ended happily, generally ended the same way they started: running.

It wasn't like it was planned (it was, a little. It was fun!) and it wasn't like this happened every time (though certainly almost always), but the ritual of running like the devil himself was on their heels (hey, sometimes he was) into a waiting TARDIS, slamming the doors closed, and then flopping in a heap somewhere on the floor (or the struts, or the console, or the captain's chair) and laughing until they were hysterical… That was how things ended.

Normally.

Except, one time, when things almost, _almost_ hadn't been happy and some of the close calls came too close for comfort for both of them and they had been separated without their consent; that one time when they were reunited, running like hell, descending on the TARDIS with genuine fear on their faces and not a whole lot of celebration in the bag, that one time was when things changed.

They crashed together into a heap on the floor, not really aware of where one body started and the other body ended and neither caring, oh, let's say, _not in the least_. The TARDIS had shaken ominously and the fear and adrenaline was still so fresh in them that they hit the console together, neither speaking but both hauling on wheels and slamming on buttons and yanking on cranks until, with a heave and a shudder that threw them to the ground once more, they were alone in space, orbiting just outside a supernova's remnant nebulas cloud the colour of Sundays and sunsets.

It was then, in the calm with terror still in their eyes that they turned to one another, arms open, flinging themselves into the embrace of their equal like two souls were desperately trying to fit inside one body; puzzle pieces fitting together when the whole was greater than the sum of the parts. It's not clear who moved first, but the endless hug turned into a fevered kiss, hands reaching and pulling and just begging to _touch, oh please just let me touch – are you sure you're here with me?_

Clothes were discarded in every direction, and it would be humorous later to find his silk tie on a lamp in the corridor, her shoes next to the Gravitational Matrix Destabiliser under the console, both of their shirts in a doorway to a bedroom they'd never seen before. It was all rich wood and warm lighting from false sunshine. The bed was wide and soft with clean white linens and a dark green leather headboard. Neither noticed.

What they did remember were the new things. Rose got down to her knees and gave the Doctor something he hadn't felt in centuries, hadn't seen in decades. The Doctor, for his part, hauled Rose up by her underarms and together they tumbled into the bed. With every thrust and twist and tremor of muscles, he reminded her _yes, I'm real_ and _yes, I love you_, until his voice was hoarse and the breakwaters would not hold back the waves. At that moment, slender fingers reached down, skimmed over pale skin to the intimate dampness that waited, trembling, as friction was sought and the gates of what surely must have been Heaven opened and all the floods in all the worlds went pouring through their souls.

Still tangled together in one body, one piece, they recovered. Rose's skin was hot to the touch, sticky with sweat and over-warm from exertion. The Doctor, naturally cooler, held her close in his arms, her heat giving him a sense of safety unlike anything he'd felt before.

Her head was against his chest, flyaway blonde everywhere. Rose's eyes were drowsy and the Doctor let his fingers trace meaningless patterns into her skin, the lightest of touches on the nape of her neck, fingernails only _just_ touching over her shoulder blades, and the pads of his fingers cool in the hollow of her lower back.

Getting to that moment had been a storm of raging hearts and terrorized minds. The peace that came after it was only suiting.

They stayed like that for hours, Rose lightly dozing, occasionally running her fingernails through the dusting of chest hair before her. She never mentioned it, but the double _bah-thump_ of his twin hearts sounded more like home than the Powell Estates in the still of night ever had.

Eventually she rolled off of him, and stretched like a cat; bones made little popping sounds and muscles jittered at the excess of the day's use. When she turned to face him, the Doctor was already sitting upright, hands reaching out to press against her back and rub away the tension of the day. Working on each knot and every long bundle of muscle fibres, he mapped her construction out in his mind, a perfect replica stashed in his memory. He would never tell her in their time together, but he would always draw on that image, cataloging every small thing that made Rose Tyler his very own _Rose_:

Over her back, that small scar on her hip; her buttocks with their little dimples just beside the base of her spine; lean thighs used to running; fingers tracing over the tones in her calves and the delicately put-together filigree of her slender ankles. Every last inch memorized by hand, and then, starting at her ankle, by mouth.

He traced over her again, this time for her taste, and when she could take no more Rose rolled over, reaching for his face to drink in a kiss like she was lost in a desert. Slipping out from underneath of him, the Doctor lay stretched out, all angles and hollows full of love, receiving Rose's own relentless attentions. She did just as he had, tracing all the lines of bone and muscle and sinew she could find, eyes searching and little confused by the absence of scars. Instead, she settled herself in the nook between his arm and his side, and counted the freckles across his shoulder and chest with her lips. It was better to memorize them that way, she had thought. While he may change and look different one morning not far enough from now, a man as unique as the Doctor must surely always _taste_ the same.

It was like this, slowly with touches and caresses and whispers that they joined together once more, this time moving so much more slowly. There were sighs and moans and whispers of incomplete words like _love_ and _forever_ and _please._ They came together again, each supporting the other, breathing the sounds of a prayer for which no words exist.

* * *

Only a little while later:

They lay together like that, sleepy and tangled, for what felt like ages after. The Doctor, almost magically, had fallen asleep, and so Rose slipped out of the bed and padded to the doorway, where she snatched up her tee-shirt, his dark blue oxford, and the recognizable pink cotton of her undies. Throwing her clothes to the foot of the bed, she slid into the Doctor's too-big shirt, did up a few buttons, and rolled the sleeves hastily. The metal grating was sharp on her feet but she felt like she needed the change. She wound up in the library of all places; curled up on the big leather couch with a virtual atlas of the universe, each full of pictures of beautiful places and amazing people.

There was a whisper from the doorway. "Rose." It was the Doctor's voice.

She turned, only the top of her head to the bridge of her nose exposed over the high back of the lounge.

The Doctor tilted his head back towards the room they'd shared. "Come back to bed," he cajoled.

Rose stood, leaving the blanket and the atlas on the seat beside her. She wasn't paying attention, but the Doctor's eyes darkened, pupils blown, when he saw her, tousled and sleepy and gorgeous, in his mostly undone shirt.

He waited for her, and they held hands as they walked down the hallway the ten steps back to the room they'd just shared. The Doctor had only thrown his shorts on to make the quick trip, and together, a little more awake, they lounged.

Rose turned her face into the skin of his arm and asked, voice quiet, "will this happen again?"

The Doctor pulled her in close, and her hand settled on his chest between both thrumming hearts. "Yes," he whispered back.

Rose yawned an okay and then laid farther back into the pillows. The Doctor propped himself up on one elbow and looked at her with one eyebrow raised. She nodded sheepishly, and watched, intent, as the Doctor slowly undid the buttons on the oxford. Slipping the collar over her shoulders, Rose let herself free and then curled into the Doctor's waiting embrace, skin to skin. It was like that that they spent the rest of the evening.

And so it was like that, with little discussion and no hesitation that Rose and the Doctor came together for the first time. It wasn't the last, no, but it set the precedent; and so it only happened three other times in the rest of the year they had been together. When the fear was too much and the loneliness too heavy to carry alone, then they would look at one another and take the misery of two bodies and set it aside so those souls could become one, and carry the whole weight of the universe in a perfect tandem.

* * *

**A/N: **I think it's going to end there. There's still a large conversation that our duo needs to have, but I really felt like I couldn't go there until I could show the readers what it was like for them before. It's too much history to ignore, that's for sure, and I think it's okay for them both to be a little afraid of being intimate after eight years apart when it was _that_ that they lost.

Anyway, once I hit my groove this one was nice to write. A credit to the poem "You Are Jeff" from the anthology "Crush" by Richard Siken, for the line "_like a prayer to which no words exist."_

Please, please, please consider to take the time to review. It means so much, and I love every comment, really.

Have a Wicked Halloween Wednesday!


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **So, this is chapter eight. This is the second time I've written it, and I like this version a lot better. Hope you all do, too!

A super huge big thank you to all the reviewers for that last chapter. Really really truly truly. I love them.

To those who know about it: happy NaNoWriMo season! Good luck to everyone embarking on a 'novel' adventure. Haha, I'm so punny. Don't know what I'm talking about? Go check out .org and learn all about this wack-tastic challenge.

**Disclaimer: **The Doctor isn't mine, ever so sadly. This is not for profit. No copyright infringement intended. This is a work of fiction that is 100% for my personal creative pleasure. If I say mfdnksndf fjsiojf aughhao alfks does anyone even read this far down?

* * *

Rose's mind was spinning madly as she looked at the Doctor as he stood beside her. She had so many questions for him, but at the same time, she was wracked with nervousness. They'd never really spoken about the sex before, but Rose had a hard time thinking of it just as that. Those few times they had shared together always seemed to be so much more than the physical – those moments had been about two people looking for complete partnership. Two souls looking for _completion_.

Rose let her hand fall to his where it rested on her hip. His eyes searched her silently; the Doctor was nervous that he'd pushed too far too soon with words that might have been taken out of context, even if it was accidentally.

"This is bigger now than it was before, isn't it?" Rose whispered. The Doctor sighed. "It's just that now you're here, in front of me, and I just…" Rose struggled to put her thoughts into words. "I just missed you so much and there were times when I needed you, Doctor. I _needed_ you so badly-"

"And I wasn't there," he finished.

"No, no," Rose said hastily. "Not like that. You weren't gone on purpose. But that didn't make it any easier, 'cause we'd never _talked_ about it. The sex just… happened. And it was so much more."

"I know," the Doctor whispered back, and he pulled Rose close to him as her eyes glossed over with unshed tears. He led them back to the couch they'd just left, hands tangled together in the Doctor's lap. "We need to be clear about some things, I guess, don't we?"

Rose's forehead was against the Doctor's shoulder, and she talked into his sleeve, voice muffled. "I'd say," she agreed.

The Doctor reached up with his free hand and let the backs of his knuckles trail along Rose's jaw. She turned so that she could look up at him as he spoke.

"First things first, Rose Tyler: I'm not leaving you."

Rose caught his free hand with her one and looked at him sharply. "That's not a promise we can keep," she whispered back sadly.

The Doctor gave her a rueful smile for her pragmatism. "You're right, you are. But I can promise to try my best. And I can promise to always come back."

"But-"

The Doctor held one slender finger over Rose's mouth. "Fingers on lips," he whispered. "And for as long as you're going to be happy beside me, Rose Tyler, I'll be happy to have you. You're my forever. Do you understand?"

The tears welled faster in Rose's eyes but she refused to blink them free. Instead, she nodded silently.

"And so now that leaves us here: if you're comfortable, we can share my room. There's no rush, Rose. I'm just so, so glad to have to beside me again… There's no rush. When you're ready for that, if you're ready for that… Rose?" The Doctor paused and looked at his companion carefully. "What are you thinking?"

She wiped at her eyes in frustration and tried to hold her voice steady. "I've got Noah now, Doctor. I'm… I'm not the same. I didn't think…" she let her voice fade, letting the Doctor fill in gaps.

In realization, he pulled her in close to his body, one hand gently holding the back of her head, a wondrous smile on his face. "Oh, no," he said, eyes flashing. "You're more beautiful than you've ever been, Rose." He held her back at arm's length and made sure she knew he was looking at her all over. "You're magic, Miss Tyler."

Rose blushed through her tears. "Not so bad yourself," she mumbled back as she wrapped her arms around him, her head tucked into the crook of his neck. "So, we'll share your room and just…?"

"Wait," the Doctor said simply. "We'll just wait. Like you said, we've got all the time in the universe."

* * *

After some quiet time in the library, Rose and the Doctor wandered their way back to the console room. He had some tinkering to do, as always, and after getting quickly fed up with the Doctor's half interested responses, Rose made her way back into the galley kitchen of the TARDIS.

It was quite nearly forty minutes before the Doctor realized he'd been talking to himself the whole time, weighing the options of where to first take Noah when they went star-bound. The universe-saving adventures would have to wait for a while – the boy wasn't old enough to be left alone for any length of time, and really, the pair of them got into too much trouble to promise any sitter that they'd be home by midnight.

Wiping the grime and grease onto a filthy rag didn't really do anything for the mess on his hands, but that wasn't a concern. The action was a comfortable habit, and that was that. It was as he stood that the Doctor was struck with the most amazing smells he'd ever come across in all his years – well, maybe not the best, but certainly the most remarkable smell to be smelled inside the TARDIS.

The Doctor followed his nose to the kitchen, where a very new sight met his eyes. Rose was up to her elbows in flour and dust filled the air, and there in the oven he could tell banana bread was baking away. He then caught sight of the chocolate melting on the stove and the orange rings sitting in sugar off to one side, and he could barely match his memories of disaster-prone Rose being successful in the kitchen.

"What's this, then?" He asked cheerfully as he stuck his nose a little further into the warm galley.

Rose, occupied in her task of kneading, hadn't heard his approaching footsteps and jumped approximately sixteen feet into the air. When she turned to face him, Rose was sure that her heart was probably still clinging to the ceiling.

"Ya mind?!" she roared, completely coated in flour. The Doctor, for his part, was in stitches on the floor, unaware that she would've startled so badly.

Rose threw a cupful of flour on him unceremoniously, and his laughter turned into a wrangled choking sputter. Finally, he came back around and looked up at her from the floor. Hands on hips and mostly covered in white dust, she didn't look particularly intimidating. The Doctor, however, knew better, and pulled for his best apology.

"Sorry?" It was complete with questioning tone.

"You'd best be if you know what's good for you." Rose huffed and turned back around to her work.

"Since when is baking… a thing?" the Doctor asked casually, still down on the floor.

"Noah," Rose responded shortly, her attention focused on cutting cold butter with a sharp knife and frozen fingers.

"Really?" the Doctor asked, reaching up a hand to shake the flour from his hair. He forgot to close his mouth and was rewarded for his foolishness with a great mouthful of dust. Making faces and sticking out his tongue gracefully, the Doctor managed, "Do you cook, too, or just bake now?"

"Both," she said distractedly. "But I like baking better."

"Huh."

_Thanks for the insight,_ Rose thought to herself. "Did you need something, Doctor?" Her tone was impatient, but only because he would see through to the teasing.

"No, no," he insisted. "I just thought of something absolutely wonderful, that's all."

"Really?" Rose still hadn't turned to face him, instead working on cutting the butter into the flour for the right consistency for the kind of pastry Noah liked best. Rose mildly wondered if the Doctor would like it this way, too.

The Doctor's silence prompted Rose to turn around, away from the giant sticky ball before her. He was sitting Indian-style in his ruined and floury suit, grinning up at her.

"Okay," Rose said placating his whims. "What's this most amazing idea you've got hidden in that brain, Doctor?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," the Doctor smirked back. Rose huffed, looking dangerously like she was going to throw that blob of raw dough at his face. He backpedalled quickly and changed tactics, hoping she hadn't seen through to his retreat.

"I would," she warned.

"How about," the Doctor said, like he was wondering aloud for the whole galaxy to consider, "once it's all of us up and away from here…" he caught Rose's expression, the curiosity on her face being exactly that which he was waiting for. "We go visit your friend Jack."

"Jack!" Rose was incredulous. "But Jack's gone! Doctor!" Rose was concerned that he'd gone loony before they'd even gone back out to space.

"What if I said he wasn't, Rose? What if I told you that when you had all of Time and the Vortex in you at the Gamestation, you brought him back?"

Rose looked at the Doctor in awed silence. "No," she whispered.

He nodded seriously. "Indeed." Then, in a tone more to himself than aloud, he added, "did a whole lot more than that, but yes. In short."

The buzzer on the oven went off madly, and Rose was yelling her questions as she fished two loaves of hot banana bread out of the oven. "What do you mean, 'more than that'? Oi, Doctor? What's that supposed to mean?"

The Doctor mulled and thought of the best way to explain how things had changed for Jack. "You love Jack, don't you?" he asked.

Rose very nearly dropped the bread pans. "Doctor," she growled, "you've got a bloody funny way with words, doncha think?"

"Oh," he said good-naturedly. "It makes what happened easier to explain if you did, that's for sure. Because, you brought him back, Rose," now the Doctor stood up to his full height, dust floating off of him with each movement. "But because of all the love in you for him, you, well, you did it more than once."

Rose looked at the Doctor with confusion on her features. "What you did was very human. It was perfectly, beautifully human. You lost someone you loved and you brought them back. But," he said softly, "you loved Jack so much in that moment that you didn't just bring him back once."

The Doctor took the two steps to the dusty counter, leaning his hip against it comfortable as he looked at Rose. "You brought Jack back every single time. You loved him so much that now, he always comes back. You gave him too much love for one life, so now," the Doctor finished softly, "so now, with all that life, he'll live forever."

Rose's breath whooshed out of her and she leaned back against the counter for support. "He can't die? Is that what you're saying under all that, Doctor?"

He nodded sincerely.

"Oh, poor Jack," she whispered, a hand over her mouth. "What have I done?" It was mostly said to herself, but the Doctor heard her and took her hands in his.

"Maybe it is 'poor Jack', Rose, but I'll take you to go see him. He's happy as a clam, I swear to you." _Weird Earth phrase,_ he thought,_ clams don't have particularly wide emotional spectrums._

* * *

It was a slow, meandering walk back to the school later that afternoon. Rose had packed a bag prepared for Noah, knowing that he'd be starving when he ran off the bleachers to meet his parents. Covered in grass stains and mud and looking properly beat, he slammed into his mother, face squashed against her belly as his small arms flung around her waist.

"I scored a goal, Mum!" his voice was hampered but the enthusiasm was contagious. Rose wrapped her arms around his little body and held him tightly as she swung them around in circles, Noah's legs swinging in the air. All three laughed happily in the celebration, and when Noah's feet touched the earth once more, he jumped ship, flinging himself at his father. More muffled sounds came from somewhere near the Doctor's tie, but it was too jumbled to distinguish.

"What's that now, captain?" the Doctor asked cheerfully. Rose, for her part, shrugged her shoulders in confusion.

Noah, unwilling to lift his face for the moment, only repeated himself. Whatever he'd said was lost in the Doctor's overcoat. Letting him take his time, the Doctor let his fingers sift through the boy's thick, rusty hair for a moment before he asked again. "Once more, big fella."

Finally persuaded, Noah turned his face back towards the football pitch. "I thought you'd be gone," he whispered.

Rose held a hand over her mouth, unsure of what to say or what to do. The Doctor was equally lost. He got down to his knees in front of Noah so they were eye to eye. Looking at him carefully, he whispered back. "I'm going to make you a promise, Noah. Okay?" The boy nodded and the Doctor continued. "I promise that I will always come back. Always."

Without speaking, the little boy threw his arms around his father's neck. The Doctor held him tightly and stood back to his full height, Noah in his arms. Rose smiled at him softly and reached out to rub Noah's back. "Time for tea, I think," she said. "We've got a full basket, kiddo, so fill your boots."

The Doctor made a face at Rose. "But he's not wearing boots. Besides-"

"Dad," they'd not been together very long, but Noah already had the _I'm younger and I know better, good Lord_ tone down to a science. "It's just a phrase, silly."

"Oh, forgive me," the Doctor huffed as the trio walked back over to the bleachers.

Noah chattered endlessly about school and lunch break and football and 'you wouldn't believe what the sixth years did today'. His classes bored him, the Doctor could tell, but not so much that he was frustrated with schooling. Hopefully they'd be able to figure something out and pull together some kind of plan for him. The Doctor knew he'd have to talk to Rose about it, and that Noah couldn't be ignored in the process. Whether he was strong at languages or math or maybe if he preferred physics…

"Isn't that your mate Mikey, Noah?" Rose's voice broke the Doctor's stream of thought.

Noah nodded enthusiastically at his friend, his mouth preoccupied with banana bread. Swallowing thickly, Noah called out to his quickly-approaching friend. "Mikey! D'ya want some sweets? Mum was baking!"

The friend, Mikey, had warm cinnamon-toned skin and long, straight, almost-black hair. His eyes were as big as his smile as he ran up, stopping just a few steps away. He put his hands on his knees in a comical copy of a stereotype and huffed for a moment before he seemed to catch his breath.

"No thanks, Noah," he said as he sat down beside his friend. "Hi, Mrs. Tyler," he added shyly.

Rose laughed and ruffed his hair. "You're sure you don't fancy something? There's lots."

"No," he shook his head and smiled. Then, he turned intently to Noah and leaned in very close to his ear, a hand covering his lips. There was an indistinct and snuffy sounding whisper, both boys totally ignoring the grownups.

Eventually, Mikey pulled away, and Noah nodded his head just in the very slightest. With that, the interloper gave a bright smile to Rose and the Doctor, waved his hand in a huge arc, and took off at a run, yelling, "Bye Mrs. Tyler!"

The Doctor chuckled to himself at the boy's antics, but he noticed how concerned Rose looked. Noah, for his part, looked like the whole rendezvous hadn't even taken place. He reached out and touched Rose's sleeve, leaning in to whisper as Noah sifted through the picnic basket. "If he was unhappy about something, Rose, we'd know. Just leave it rest for now."

She nodded, but didn't look particularly satisfied.

Soon enough they were packing up their belongings, Noah weighed down with his enormous rucksack and gym bag before his father took it off him. Out of the corner of Rose's eye, she could see the older boys coming in for their turn at the pitch. All of them wear obviously leaving boyhood behind quickly – these were senior boys in their late teens, some of them surely thinking about football as much more than a pastime. In her foreground her vision rested on Noah, who watched the teens just as intently. She wondered what his thoughts were – did he want to pursue football like they did? Did he want brothers, looking at that crowd of boys roughhousing? Rose shook her head to clear the thoughts, hefting the picnic basket up onto her shoulder. The Doctor and Noah were waiting for her at the bottom of the bleachers, hand in hand.

The Doctor was whistling a tune from the sixties and once Rose recognized it, she laughed and gave his shoulder a nudge with her own. "Homeward bound?"

"_Where the music's playin'_," the Doctor added playfully.

"What music?" Noah asked, the reference way over his head.

"Doesn't matter at all," the Doctor said, swinging their joined hands. "What kind of music do you like best, Noah?"

* * *

**A/N: **and there we go. It's not particularly exciting, but that's because I didn't really know how to fill an afternoon when they couldn't go anywhere. Things will get more interesting soon, and we'll go off-canon when we meet Jack and his friend soon. It'll all be explained, no worries.

Let me know what you think!


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **To all of you who have been waiting so, so patiently, here comes chapter nine. I got seriously stuck on this chapter, so I decided to write on to chapter 10 and then connect the dots… Except that chapter 10 (and consequently, what should've been 11 and 12, and are mostly completely written) basically turned into its own thing. So that didn't help. Anyway, I'll be busy this week with papers because university is _awesome_, but I swear to you that I'll try to not go so long without updating.

**A/N 2: **If anyone would like a more detailed explanation of how the timelines are working, feel free to ask away. Basically, Jack and Martha will be joining in to this story as frequent guests, but I just didn't feel right bringing them in without any history. That, in turn, brings me to my latest endeavour: Promise Me Something. It's short arcs and one-shots that detail Martha and Jack's history together, because we'll only be seeing teeny weeny flashes of that kind of thing in this fic, and I really like Martha and Jack. I do understand that not everyone feels that way, however, and figured it was more appropriate to separate the storylines, so that if you're not interested in reading too much of one particular pairing, it's not cannon to the story _you are_ interested in. That said, if you're into the pairing, or would like to see what it looks like, please go check it out. I fairly love them.

**Disclaimer: **The good Doctor and his companions do not belong to me. I'm only playing with them, and I swear I'll put them back exactly where I found them. This is my own personal work of fiction; I am making no profit from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Once home, both mother and son were given the impossible task of figuring out exactly what it was they wouldn't be able to live without once they left home – and it wasn't just clothes or favourite books. It was stuffed animals and it was all of Baxter's necessary extras and pillowcase that Noah loved. The boy, however, had taken to his task with gusto, and had run upstairs to his bedroom so that the floor shook and sounded like thunder. The giant dog had been let outside because of his ceaseless pacing. Rose had almost wished he would have understood her words of _don't worry, you're coming with us._

Now, having placed the Doctor in the kitchen and instructed him to pack everything non-perishable, with special attention being paid to the kid-oriented foodstuffs, Rose was in her bedroom, clothes strew over every surface as she debated what would be coming with her, and what she'd leave her mother to give to charity. It was like that that the Doctor found her, sitting in a circle of shoes, looking with distantly-focused eyes out of the open window.

Leaning in the doorway, hands in his pockets, the Doctor spoke softly. "You know, we could leave tomorrow. We could be out there before you know it."

Rose didn't turn away from where she was looking. She couldn't lie; those same thoughts had been running through her head. Still with eyes out the window, she called to the Doctor, "come sit."

Slowly, he took his place just behind her, very nearly knocking over a pair of bright red heels. Picking them up and turning the over in his hands, he feigned nonchalance when he asked, "these coming with us?" His voice came out squeakier than he had hoped, and looped a finger around the knot in his tie, as if, should Rose turn around, the false culprit would be framed and held accountable.

Rose turned around to look at his face, eyebrows lost in his hairline but his features otherwise neutral. She shrugged her shoulders and took them from him. "Don't think so," she said, with a teasing glint in her eyes as she saw the Doctor's swagger slip. "Besides," she winked at him, "the TARDIS can give me ones that match."

A deep crease appeared between the Doctor's brows. "Match?" he mumbled to himself, looking around the room in confusion. "Match what?"

A small trunk was peeking out from under Rose's bed, and she titled her chin in its direction. Still not certain as to what she was getting at, the Doctor reached for it hastily and pushed off its lid without grace. Suddenly under his intense scrutiny were garments of lace. Garments _entirely_ of lace.

He pushed the box away from himself just as quickly as he'd dove for it. In that moment, his tie felt too tight and the room felt too small and Rose was far too close. He looked up to see her awaiting gaze, and his speechlessness had him wholly caught on the spot.

Rose lost it. Her gales of laughter had her fallen over on the floor, her head somewhere between winter sweaters and fall sweaters. How the Doctor knew the dichotomy, he wasn't sure. How he knew which was which he _really_ didn't want to know.

* * *

While Rose was upstairs struggling with her decisions, Noah was down the hall, happily sorting out the most important things from the least. Baxter had taken up the entirety of the young boy's bed, but he wasn't the least bit bothered. Instead, he paced the room, snatching small items from their hiding places. The Doctor was leaning in the doorway, unnoticed. He was learning about his son as he watched – the books were more important than anything else, it seemed. Small knick-knacks seemed to rival in importance; a small scrap of a blanket had been pulled from behind the pillow. A big book filled with loose sheaves of paper was held very carefully – Noah kept turning to look at it now that it wasn't sheltered in the stillness of the closet. A couple of photographs came down off the walls, as did a football ribbon – first place. When he had all of these items collected in front of him, Noah ducked under his bed and pulled out a suitcase. It was then that the Doctor decided to speak up.

"No clothes?" he asked quietly.

Noah jumped visibly but worked very hard to pretend it hadn't happened. "Do I need them?"

The Doctor pulled a face, his mouth in a strange shape. Noah wondered if he even noticed that it was something he did. "Well," the Doctor started. "There's an endless supply on the TARDIS. Though," he added thoughtfully, "there's never been a child on the TARDIS. I don't know if there're children's clothes… There's got to be." The Doctor was looking at the pile of belongings thoughtfully, gently tugging on his ear in that distracted way. "Even if there isn't… We could get to Market Madness if I could fix the anti-gravity perception matrix so that the locals don't realize we're not walking on our hands."

Noah was just looking at the Doctor with wide eyes. He understood all of those words independently, but was having a hard time dealing with them in a straight line like that, like they were supposed to make sense.

"What?"

If anyone who knew the Doctor had been in the room, they would've been astounded at just how similar boy and man seemed in that moment. They were both wearing distracted looks of wonder and a little hidden excitement, sitting on the floor opposite one another. Both sets of legs bent at the knee, all four arms folded and crossed. If it hadn't been for age, it would've been much more like looking in a mirror.

"Should I pack clothes?" Noah brought the conversation back to Earth – quite literally. The Doctor jumped from his thoughts, refocusing on the boy.

"Only if you've got a special favourite of something," the Doctor said, looking down affectionately at his battered red chucks. Noah looked thoughtful as he made his way towards the closet. Items were pulled out, examined, and then dropped to the floor indiscriminately. Jeans, jumpers, tee-shirts all piling up next to Noah's feet. The inquisition slowed, and a giant jumper, obviously an adult's, was held tightly to his chest. A handful of shirts joined it, and then, what looked like a pair of trunks and the housecoat from the previous morning. With these things in hand, Noah turned back to the suitcase, still mostly empty, and dumped them in unceremoniously. He looked at his father expectantly.

"That it, then?" the Doctor asked, eyebrows raised. Noah nodded.

"Well done, mate. There's something to be said for travelling lightly." The Doctor pulled the case towards him and zipped it with an air of finality. It was then that he looked back up at Noah, who was standing before him and now a head taller than the Doctor.

"What's your name?" Noah blurted out suddenly, slapping a hand over his own mouth as soon as he'd asked. He looked like he'd surprised himself, like the words came out of his mouth but not his brain. The Doctor knew that feeling very well.

"It's okay," he said softly. He was curious, the way little boys should be. All he'd ever heard his father called was _the Doctor_, after all. _That's not how things normally work_, the Doctor thought sympathetically. "You're allowed to ask. There's no problem there, Noah." He reached out and gently pulled the child's hand away from his face. Still holding his hand softly, he said, "I'm just not allowed to tell anyone."

Noah looked properly confused at that response. "But how come?"

The Doctor sighed. "Well," he started, "I'm a Time Lord," he said. "So are you, for that matter," he added distractedly, "so some of this applies to you, too. I guess as much as you decide to take. It's our history, your culture." The Doctor looked sad and distant for a moment before he turned his eyes back to his son. "But it's also your choice," he said with a heavy voice.

"And this is how it works. Sort of. There's some Gallifreyan words that I can promise don't make sense right now, but we'll pop you into the TARDIS and that'll be fixed in a jiffy. Soon as she sets eyes on you… jinkies." The Doctor cut himself off and made a face. "I'm not going to say that ever again, I promise."

Noah was getting used to this. He just sat down, mimicking his father's position.

"So, on Gallifrey – where I'm from – there's a school, called the Academy. You go when you're eight and you finish when you're twenty. With me?" He didn't give Noah a chance to respond before he just bulldozed onward. "When you're loomed – born, in your case – you're named. Your parents name you. There's a long tradition and it's very serious and when I say serious, I mean _serious_. Your name tells your story, the story of your parents, the story of your bloodline. There's everything in a name. Your parents and your family use it only, and I do really mean _only them_. Once you… start school, I guess… you pick a nickname of sorts. Your name is too important to tell to your teachers and your schoolmates. It's too big."

Noah's eyes are wide and he looked sleepy, but he was following the Doctor's words and gestures like he was painting a picture.

"Then, once you graduate and you're done and out of the Academy, you pick your name. And it's the name that you'll be known by for the rest of your life. By the time you get to be as old as me, there's no one around who ever knew your real name." The Doctor was quiet, his face a little sad.

"And you chose 'the Doctor'?" Noah asked, voice serious.

The Doctor had a faraway look in his eyes. "_The man who makes people better."_ He pulled himself out of his reverie, looking brightly at Noah just as the boy let out an enormous yawn. The Doctor smiled. "Bed, I think," he said conspiratorially.

Noah, already bathed and in jimjams on his mother's orders, moved towards his bed, but the Doctor stood and put a hand on his shoulder, their heights returned to their normal discrepancies. "How do you like adventures, Noah?" The boy reached up, taking his father's hand in his. They stood like that for a moment, just looking at one another. The Doctor leaned down and picked up Noah's suitcase, and Noah, for his part, whistled softly at Baxter, who'd been dozing the whole time.

The trio made their way down the hallway until they reached Rose's bedroom. Noah knocked quietly, but Baxter barged in, pretences ignored entirely. Her laughter could be heard from the other side of the room as the boys poked their heads around the doorframe.

"Mum," Noah started, only to be cut off.

"There's been a change of plans," the Doctor said, a glint in his eyes. Rose, sitting on the floor and mostly obstructed by dog, made a huffing noise.

"And what's that, then?" she managed, once Baxter had changed his mind about being excessively large and decided he was, in fact, a lapdog.

"Let's spend the night on the TARDIS-"

"Please Mum, say yes!"

Rose's gaze went back and forth between the two faces in the door. After a moment, she sighed. "So long as you two stop finishing each other's sentences. It's-"

"Weird?" they asked in unison. Man and boy looked at each other strangely, but gave up after a second to look back at the woman on the floor.

"Noah, call Baxter, love?" Rose said tiredly. Noah whistled and obediently – and with more grumbles from Rose than from Baxter – the dog trotted back over to the boy. Back on her feet, Rose looked to the Doctor. They made eye contact for the briefest moment – they knew what they were looking for in each other's faces, and it was plainly written there; the lines of love just as strong as always.

* * *

The quartet stood outside the door of the TARDIS, suitcases and other miscellaneous gear gathered around their feet. Noah had made for the door in a right hurry, but Rose had caught him around the shoulders as the Doctor was digging around in his pockets. Finally fishing out what it was he needed, he let out a sigh and turned to face the family.

He made grabby hands for Noah, who took a hesitant step forward. "I'm going to ask you to wear this, okay, Noah?" In the Doctor's hands was a thin blue bracelet, metallic in appearance. It was curved, and had an open space at one point, so it could be slipped on and off over the wristbone. "It's a little bit like a phone. If you mother or I are looking for you and you're too far away to hear our voices, this will glow bright blue. Okay?"

Noah accepted the bracelet but was very, very confused. "But it's a box. We'll get stuck." He promptly let out a yawn.

The Doctor turned to Baxter, who was given a collar with a little blue metal tag. He looked at Noah. "I'll, uh, leave you to do the explaining, yeah?"

"But it's a box." Noah repeated.

The Doctor reached over Noah's head to give Rose the key. She went over to unlock the door and slipped inside, and the Doctor put his hands on Noah's shoulders, kneeling down so they were eye-to-eye. "There are only a few rules in the TARDIS, but they're very important, and it would be _brilliant_ if we could stick to them. Good?" Noah looked at his father with steady eyes.

"Rule one: please, please come when that thing lights up. Rule two: please keep Baxter with you. There's never been a dog on the ship before. Rule C - "

"Three," Noah corrected.

The Doctor nodded sagely and kept going. "Rule three: absolutely, never, never, never, ever go to the swimming pool. There's a very large and unhappy giant squid in there. I don't want you to be its tea."

Noah made a terrible face at the prospect that there was a swimming pool he wasn't allowed to enjoy, but the Doctor waved his hands in his face like he could wipe it away.

"And rule four, don't ever bring a pear in here, yeah? I hate pears." The Doctor made a face and Noah worked to hold in his laughter. "Really, they're wretched." Then, he looked at his son carefully, taking in the ruffled hair and the mismatched jimjams. "And," he said slowly, "rule number five, the most important one. Whatever you do, don't ever let - "

At that moment, the familiar sound of the TARDIS departure sequences started, the little blue flashing and the internal column making the horrible, wonderful gasping grating sound. The Doctor immediately sprung to his feet, grabbing everything within arms' reach and Noah, too, and ran the three steps through the TARDIS' door. Within seconds, the family was being wildly thrown around within the console room – Noah desperately hanging on to the railing, yelling like his life depended on it. The Doctor, having thrown his entire body on the console, was reaching and grabbing and poking and generally not helping matters at all as they hurtled into space.

Less than ten seconds later it had stopped.

The Doctor collapsed back into the captain's chair, just behind himself. "You in one piece, Noah?" he called out.

"Yeah, 'm okay," the boy answered. He was still white-knuckling the railing even though the TARDIS had settled into a perfectly calm stasis, orbiting a cloudy red dwarf star.

"Rose, with us?" the Doctor asked at large, his eyes fixed on the screen that madly flashed Gallifreyan circles at him. He was met with silence. He looked around the room with a hard gaze. "Rose?" he yelled.

Noah was up on his feet, coming to stand beside the Doctor. Then, suddenly, he gasped. "Mum!" he yelled. "Dad, she's up there!"

There, on one of the upper catwalks, Rose was on the floor, one hand and a length of blonde hair hanging over the edge.

The Doctor took off running to the staircase, taking the steps three at a time. "Stay there, Noah!" he roared, stopping the boy in his tracks. _Here we go again, _the Doctor thought without any malice. _You really ought to cut this out, Rose. It's a bit much work._

* * *

A quick once over with the sonic and then his hands and eyes had left him with the conclusion (and confusion) that the TARDIS just liked letting Rose faint all over the place. The Doctor thought it wasn't a very nice way to tell someone you missed them. With that, he scooped her up in his arms like a Raggedy Ann and carefully picked his way downstairs. Noah was sitting sullenly on the captain's chair, twiddling his thumbs and looking worried. Baxter's head rested on the boy's knee, eyes closed. When he saw his father descending the steps, he jumped to his feet.

"Easy chief," the Doctor said softly. "Your mum's just fine. It looks like she and the TARDIS had a little… kerfuffle."

Noah looked unimpressed. The Doctor winced at his expression.

"You're right; I'll never use that one again, either."

Noah didn't bat an eyelash. "But is she okay?" he asked, pointing at his mother. He had stepped up close, her face only a few inches away from his.

"Awh, yeah. She'll be right as rain in the morning. Now, follow me, Noah. I'll get your mum settled nice and quick, and then I'll show you your room, how's that?"

Noah just followed along, his fingers tracing along the coral walls. The Doctor twisted his head back to look over his shoulder, but the boy looked fine, if a little tired. The dog walked slowly just a few paces behind them. After just a few more moments they came to the dark, heavy doors that marked their shared bedroom. Noah seemed to understand this without being told, and simply waited in the open doorway as the Doctor gently laid Rose out flat on the wide bed. He gently brushed the hair out of her face, blonde bits in the way of her eyes and mouth. He placed a quick kiss on her forehead and gave Rose one last glance before turning back to Noah. Holding out his hand, the boy reached for his father's, who in turn gave gladly. Like that they walked together until, a few paces down, they came to a door of warm, cinnamon-coloured wood and the words _Noah's Room_ etched into the paneling.

"Looks like the TARDIS was waiting for you," the Doctor said softly. Noah reached out with his empty hand, turning the handle and pushing open the door. The pair entered the doorway and Noah stopped in his tracks, eyes wide with awe.

The ceiling was an illusion field, but a beautiful one at that. It was the stars, all the stars in the universe, all slowly turning and spinning and glowing in proportion and scale. The Doctor could pick out stars that were dying, glowing in their final moments of glory, hot and wonderful and so, so familiar. _I'm burning up a dying supernova to say goodbye to you_. The words were in his head before he could help it, and he felt empty when Noah's hand slipped from his. He wandered into the room – a big, fluffy rug beside an enormous, full bookshelf, beanbag chairs on opposite sides. Bunk beds – a double on the bottom, a single on the top – and a long, wide desk attached to the other side of the headboard. The way the light shimmered in the room made it feel like the stars were going to drip dust and magic on them.

Noah turned around suddenly, wrapping himself around his father's midsection. The Doctor was surprised but it didn't matter much; Noah couldn't see his face. To fill the silence, the Doctor rested one hand on the boy's shoulder, the other hand sifting slowly through the unruly rusty hair.

"Thank you," Noah mumbled.

"Anything for you," the Doctor said quietly after a moment, his hand stilling in his son's hair.

With that, Noah let go and tugged back on the comforter on the lower bunk – TARDIS blue in colour. Once bundled in, Baxter jumped up beside him, taking up more of the bed than the boy did. The Doctor knelt down beside his head.

"No top bunk under the stars?" he asked softly.

Noah shook his head, blankets pulled all the way up to his chin. "Not tonight."

The Doctor nodded, his wild hair flopping on end. Noah smiled up at him. "Good night, Dad," Noah whispered.

The Doctor reached out and traced the lines of Noah's face; across his hairline to the temple; down his cheek to his chin. "You're fantastic," the Doctor said softly. "Good night, Noah."

* * *

**A/N: **Oh, man, it feels good to say that this chapter is done. I was so stuck, as you can imagine. You've all waited very patiently for the better part of two weeks and I am so, so thankful to have a group of readers as kind as you all. Your comments are lovely, and it was the someone that begged me today for an update that made me finally sit down and write out everything that was blocking this piece's progress. All of this said, I can tell you that the real chapter ten is probably only a day or two away, and the next two chapters of Promise Me Something will be up before the weekend.

Have a Wacky Wednesday!


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **So, welcome to chapter 10! It looks like the muse is back, but I've made her sit in the corner because there's been family things and this thing called _university _that I still haven't quite got the hang of yet. This chapter's a little bit racy, so if you're on the younger side, get gone. Also, I want to say an enormous thank you to all my readers for sticking with me through this literary drought. I do simply love each and every one of you.

**Disclaimer:** The Doctor isn't mine. Please don't sue me, I'm poor. This is a complete work of fiction for my own personal pleasure in writing.

* * *

It wasn't particularly late when the Doctor made it back to their room, but he was weary and ready to close his eyes. Sleep isn't the right feeling, the right sensation. This feeling was just being _tired_.

When he peeked his head into the room, he noticed two things: the first, that Rose isn't on the bed where he left her half an hour ago, and that the lights in the room have changed. There's a low, even glow all over the room; nothing was under harsh exposure but by the same token there were no corners of shadows, either. Everything muted and soft like this made his eyelids feel even heavier. He took a few slow steps into the room and listened; there, rumbling in the pipes underneath the wall, hot water was rushing, and he could hear the spatter and splash in the bathroom – Rose, presumably, in the shower. He decided in that moment to give her some privacy and instead of lying face-down and spread-eagled on the bed, he drifted instead over to the piano on the other side of the room. This, at least, wouldn't require his gritty-feeling eyes.

He lifted the lid of the piano just a touch, remembering how the warm sound fills the space differently when the music was allowed to breathe. Then he paced back to front of the piano and took a seat in front of the ivories; the bench was wide and long, smooth black leather with legs long enough for him to feel comfortable when his toes reached for the pedals.

He touched the keys; long, slender hands spread out, but he doesn't actually play a note. Instead, he paused, first pulling himself out of his suit jacket and then loosening his tie. When the knot was hanging halfway down his chest he reached underneath and undid the first two buttons of his collar. Then, in a terrible stereotype, the Doctor cracked his neck in two quick, sure jerks and rolled his shoulders like they weren't attached to his body. He took a deep breath, held it for a moment in the near-silence, and then, with eyes still closed, went to work on the buttons of his shirt cuffs; they were undone and then rolled evenly up to just before his elbow. Then the Doctor opened his eyes for the first time since he'd sat down, and took in the vision before him. Familiar hands connected to familiar arms hovering over the familiar keys of a familiar piano. All of it was so known, so _comfortable_. But even with this around him, there was a new feeling in his chest, something that had never been there before. It was nostalgia without the hurt, it was sadness long after grieving and like being held in those first few seconds of wakefulness after a nightmare when your instincts say _run_ and _fight_ but there are a pair of real arms around you that tell you_ safe_ and _alright_ and _trust me. _Inside the Doctor's head and hearts, at that moment, were all of these feelings. So he did what he'd always done. Make something out of what hurt.

First, the Earth classics, the pieces that this instrument was _meant_ to play, the Bachs and the Beethovens and the Chopins. Songs that swelled like waves and crashed into pieces; pieces that then floated like the feathers from a bird's broken wing. All of the things that he was feeling, and the Doctor poured it all out into the music, the math of it keeping his hands alive and his breathing in time. His eyes were closed – he never looked at the keys when he played, he hadn't for centuries. Instead he made himself count the numbers and solve the equations and trace the lines of _pathos_ and _logos_ until he didn't have thoughts left. When this finally happened, he changed over, heart full, to the songs that he'd brought in his memory from Gallifrey. Songs that were sad and long and so, so slow; they reminded him of those days of drizzly rain that never really started but never really stopped, either. The Time Lords were the oldest people in the universe. It made sense to him that their music should feel like it never, never ended until that final note struck and there just wasn't anything left. The numbers were gone, the equations in the music had been solved. The _logos_ had all been used up; the Doctor was left sitting bereft before an ancient piano with nothing but the emotions of the _pathos_ in his lap.

* * *

Rose slipped out of the bathroom while the Doctor was still playing, his whole body rocking and moving with the tide of the music. She'd only been in a towel, fresh out of a hot shower, skin warmed to pink. She decided that there were better options than what she was in, and so traded her thick, damp towel for a faded cotton robe she'd had since Noah was born. The sleeves were excessively long, coming all the way down to her fingertips, but the body of it was short, making it only about halfway down her thighs. She quickly ran her fingers through her hair, now longer than it had ever been.

She approached, and he knew within a few seconds that she was just behind him. Neither said a word, and the Doctor filled the silence with another melody, this one warm and low and slow. It was short, and the Doctor stayed fairly contained while he played this piece, his torso only swaying slightly in tempo. It ended, and then the Doctor spoke.

"I could feel Noah moving around in his sleep. That was a lullaby from Gallifrey. I haven't played it in centuries." His voice was quiet, and Rose imagined all the things he was thinking.

The Doctor spun around on the bench, lifting his legs so he faced Rose properly. She was only a few paces away, not wanting to invade something of the Doctor's that was so very private. Then, eyes drinking her in, he reached out to her with both hands. The need etched into the lines of his face made Rose remember that very same look that Noah wore as a baby. _Something is not quite right and you're the only one who can fix it._

She took those few steps into his embrace, his hands first holding solidly against her hips, the bones real under his palms. One arm slides down, over the roundness of her bottom until it settled against the backs of her thighs, pulling her in that little bit closer. They don't speak; the Doctor had gently pressed his face into Rose's belly, and she can feel his forehead, the line of his nose, the warm spot where his breath comes out. Her hands are on his shoulders and in his hair. It's long and silky between her fingers and she tries to think about the last time they stood like this, a lifetime ago, maybe longer.

"What was it called?" she whispered. The last chords are still ringing in her head.

"Something Gallifreyan," the Doctor mumbled. "But it's a sad song. It's called something like _Water Music_." He sighed and tilted his head back, looking at Rose with big, sad eyes. He drinks in the sight of her in these soft shadows like a dying man. Her body is the same as he remembered it, nothing feels different, but her eyes tell another story. All of her changes happened on the inside.

Rose holds the Doctor close, palms on his shoulder blades. He copied her, spreading one hand flat out against her belly. She can tell what he's thinking when he looks back up at her.

"Tell me what happened." The Doctor whispers his request shyly. "Tell me about it. What was it like for you?" His voice is strained and his hearts hurt.

Rose only meets him with silence for a moment, and he whispers again. "Please, Rose." He's not begging, but this idea has been weighing on him heavily. She rests one hand on the back of his head and gently pulls him against her again, his cheek pressed in to the fabric of the robe. She holds him there for her own benefit. He is warm and solid and real. The memories do no bring comfort, but he does.

She starts to whisper to him, words that are feelings and not stories in themselves. Words likes _long_, because she carried him for fourteen months and never really knew just how long he was supposed to be there to be safe. _Long_ because she spent her nights alone, because she was in labour for the better part of three days. Rose said words like _lonely_, because at first her mother had been so, so angry. Because, when she was farther along, when she went out in public people would see the big belly and the bare ring finger and give mean looks, whisper to one another. She used words like lonely because he hadn't been there.

Then she uses another word, and this word is _happy._ Because while maybe not in the way it happened, she had wanted children in her future, and with Noah being from the Doctor it made up for the fact that maybe it was too soon and she wasn't ready.

Her fingers are still in his hair and he is still holding her close. He won't look at her because he can feel tears threatening and Rose understood this, she was gentle. Her voice is a whisper that seems to bypass his ears completely and the words are just there in his mind.

"Noah's yours… so that made it easier. Doctor… that just made it worthwhile. It made it right." She placed her hands on each side of the Doctor's face, nails gently scratching his scalp and tracing the edges of his ears. Eventually, he looked up at Rose, the remnants of tears still in his eyes.

She looked at him with warm eyes. "Bed, yeah?" There might be a few tears of her own, but the Doctor's vision is swimming and it's a non-issue. Her hands trace down from his shoulders until their fingers are intertwined, and then she took a step back, pulling the Doctor up to his feet. Once standing, he pulled back, and Rose is tightly in his arms when the tears finally fall.

"You're back with me," he whispered fiercely, voice choking. They are pressed as tightly together as two bodies can be, but Rose felt her chest constrict with something else. She spoke softly into the hollow of his chest, her cheek pressed against blue cotton. "I said forever, Doctor. I meant it."

He took her face in his hands then, his thumbs brushing over her cheekbones. It's then that he kissed her, and Rose responded equally. The kiss is deep and slow, and there was no edge in it, no demanding undercurrent. Minutes pass as they familiarize themselves with each other once again, breathing in tandem. Rose's fingers carded through the Doctor's hair and he copied her, his slender hands tangled in her damp hair. He tilted her head back and kissed a line along her jaw and then down her neck until he reached the hollow between her collarbones and Rose couldn't help but to hold her breath at the feeling. It's then that they pause, noses together and breaths coming in soft gasps between them. Rose held his face between her small hands and kissed the dried trails that his tears left behind.

They stayed like that for another moment longer, just content to hold one another again. Then, the Doctor took both of Rose's hands in his and they stepped away from the silent piano, his overcoat and suit jacket abandoned on the bench as the pair make their way back towards the bed. The room was silent and neither of them really knew how to go about the next few minutes. They were neither tense nor nervous, no, they were mostly just uncertain. The lights in the room dimmed again, the TARDIS aware of her occupants' circadian rhythms.

Rose approached the Doctor, her eyes asking permission for something that really, between them, is old news but is startlingly unfamiliar to these two bodies. He nodded to her in just the slightest and that was it – his tie was carefully lifted from his neck and then left to drop on the floor at their feet. Her fingers work slowly on the buttons of the oxford, and when it finally hung open in front of her, Rose gently gathered the material in her hands and untucked it from the Doctor's trousers. He shrugged his shoulders and it fell away. Touching Rose's hands stilled them, and for just a moment they pause and he toed off his chucks. Then he turned his eyes and his attention to her and hooked a finger in the sash of her robe. Hands moving slowly, he pulled at the ends of the knot and the robe slipped open, trailing lower over Rose's thighs. She was bare beneath it but the material still clung to her shoulders.

Breathing deeply to keep her fingers from shaking, she worked on the Doctor's belt, button, and zip. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband and then, with one push, the fabric falls from his slender hips to whoosh as it meets the floor.

They'd been standing at the foot of the bed and it was then that Rose stepped away, walking backward along the footboard until she's at the side of the bed. She placed one knee on the mattress, her intentions clear in the air. The Doctor's eyes never left hers as he copied her actions, until they're parallel on opposite sides of the bed. Then, Rose raised her hands and rolled her shoulders and just like the curtain at the live theatre, the fabric falls, except this is only the beginning of the show, not its closing act. His eyes traced her form and she can see them in the light, dark and hungry for something they haven't had in years.

She raised her other leg so she's kneeling on the bed now, and the Doctor crawled forward on his hands and knees to meet her halfway. He reaches her and doesn't know where to start and all of those same thoughts are reflected back at him in her eyes. Rose's hair is still damp and hanging long down her back, and her eyes huge in the dark, free from makeup and with pupils blown to almost completely fill their irises.

He places his hands on her shoulders and hers settled in the crook of his elbows. They skate down her back, pause at her waist briefly – long enough to pull her gently closer towards him. There was no hesitation on Rose's part, but in the years she's spent without a lover's touch, she's following the Doctor's lead.

He ducked his head to lick along her collarbone and breathe in her smell. Her breath is racing and it pushes her bare breasts up against his chest. His hands continue their venture, remembering the dimples of her hips on her back and the way the full curve of her bottom fills his hands. Her response is to drag her nails down his chest, the little hairs giving raise to goosebumps all over his body in one giant shiver. They make eye contact then, and it's all Rose can do to not die on the spot.

He was looking at her not unlike after their first together, and the memory kicks her into action. Without thinking, she leans forward into the kiss and he met her in the middle, just like always. Soon enough, tongues come out to play and teeth nibble along lips until Rose's body reminds her that there's thing called _air_ that comes in really handy once in a while. She leaned her head back, breaking the kiss and heaving a deep breath. The Doctor takes this an invitation to venture farther down her body. Lips preoccupied with her collarbones, his fingers wander up her ribs one by one and then linger lightly over the swells of her breasts, warm and heavy in his hands. Slender fingers reach for nipples that are fuller and darker than he remembered, changed for having nursed a baby. He loves them, and idly he imagines what kind of Madonna and Child pose they would have made.

Rose moans under his ministrations, her head lolling forward on his shoulder. His lips trace downward, kissing the soft flesh of each swell and then planting one with an open mouth in the hollow between them against her sternum. He lets his tongue trail wetly across her skin and circle each nipple in turn. She cards her finger through his hair and desperately holds his head against her chest, breathing deeply and trying her best to not be overcome with sensations and rush this.

Her own hands are desperate for him, looking for anything that will bring him closer to what she needs. She settles for his slender hips, hands snaking around his back to bring their bodies together. Rose's breath was coming to her in short, gasping sounds, and she let out a soft sound when the Doctor settled his hands on her shoulders and they fell together against the pillows.

Their eyes lock and their fingers roam, and Rose could feel a sense of completeness settle in her chest, heavy and warm. The Doctor, for his part, can feel the love leaving the tips of his fingers and filling the room – the air is thick with the electricity of it, like love can be this thing that fills you up from the inside until you're bursting with it.

And that's how they feel, tangled in the sheets and hungry for each other. Eight years of absence have painted need on to their skins, and the only way to wash it off is to bring themselves together, to fill each other's senses until there's no space for anything, until there's no room for anything but love.

* * *

**A/N: **And here was chapter nine. I would really love to know what you think about it. It's rough writing right now because school is demanding so much of my time, but I'm managing, I think. Also, if you're interested, don't forget to check out Promise Me Something, the Jack/Martha companion piece to this work! I bet GrumpyCat is grumpy because he doesn't get reviews. Hint hint.


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